Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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.” 

Chapter Text

August 2006

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

Y/N wanted the school architect dead. It was excruciating to return to her dorm after a particularly draining training mission, only to remember she had multiple flights of stairs to climb in the unwavering summer heat, swatting at the bugs drawn in by her sweat, before she even reached the property. After spending hour upon hour tracking, with her energy draining out of her fingers into each thread she brushed, each step up felt like she was dragging her shoes through mud. It made her question her decision to transfer to a new school. Nonetheless, she managed to make it up the hill and to her room. Playing with the stone hanging from her necklace, she decided she’d shower, change, and maybe even nap before settling for whatever mediocre dining hall meal awaited her.

At the end of the dorm hall, a few students passed by, having completed training for the day. Nanami spotted her and stopped in his tracks. 

“You’re back,” he stated plainly. A few strands of hair stuck up in odd places rather than lying flat in his fringe, an unusual contrast to his usual ‘put together’ demeanor. 

 “I am,” she said, meeting him in the middle of the hallway and combing her hands through his hair to flatten it. When he silently tilted his head down to allow her better access to his hair, she noticed the scratches that marked his skin, across his cheeks, neck, and hands. She grabbed his chin to move his head side to side so she could look at them. “You look pretty banged up.”

Nanami scoffed. “I had to train with Gojo Satoru.”

Y/N tried to stifle a laugh, but couldn’t resist smirking. “You poor thing,” she mused, her tone somewhere between sarcastic and pitying. Nanami glared harder now that he was reminded of why he was so annoyed in the first place. 

“There’s no point in training with him. My technique is a bad match.”

“I hadn’t thought about that before,” she said, turning to walk towards the first year’s hall together. A technique that requires contact on a specific area versus Satoru’s limitless that denies contact. Outside of his dislike for Gojo’s personality, Y/N understood his frustration.

“How was your mission?” he asked. They walked together, Nanami restraining his stride to make it easier for Y/N to match his pace. 

“It was fine. I’m a bit bored of being the scent dog, but it’s better than getting thrown around the field by the upperclassmen.”

“I bet it’s just as tiring.”

“I’m exhausted. These tracking missions fucking drain me,” she said, stopping in front of her door. Nanami stopped as well, hands at his sides, and glanced back down the hallway they had walked through.

 “I know it’s not Sunday, and Haibara’s on a mission…” he said, motioning with his head to the door between his and Y/N’s. He was breathing deeply and shifting his glance, almost nervously, “but if you’d like, I just got some groceries. I could make you some dinner.”

“Oh my god, please ,” Y/N smiled. “Let me shower first.”

An everything shower and a fresh set of clothes later, Y/N sat on the floor of Nanami’s room (as spotless as always) with the hot plate between them. The pan sizzled, hot with oil, and Y/N watched as it bubbled around the center of the pan. She brought her windowsill herbs along with her, each little painted pot lined up against the edge of Nanami’s desk. 

They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Nanami handed Y/N his cutting board and a small knife, silently instructing her to chop the meat & vegetables he pulled from the mini fridge he hid under the clothes hanging in the closet. She focused on the movement of her fingers as she began slicing a radish. While she continued her prep work, Nanami read from his mother’s recipe notebook, absentmindedly adding spices to the pan until the aroma of ginger and garlic warmed the air. 

“Do you need me to cut anything else?” Y/N offered, sliding the cutting board with chopped radish, chicken, and peppers to the other side of the hot plate.

“No, thank you,” Nanami said, grabbing the chicken and dropping it into the pan with a loud hiss from the heated oil. He didn’t speak as he seasoned the pieces, eventually turning them over and repeating the same steps, always with the same precision. Without something to do, Y/N started to feel awkward, watching Nanami stir in the radishes and add some green onion from her plant. She knew that if she interfered with his process, offering to stir or God forbid take over, he would once again say “no thank you” without even looking up from the pan. 

As he cooked, Nanami got worse and worse at hiding his pained expression, his jaw clenched and eyes intently focused on his current task. He clearly didn’t want to acknowledge it. So, with nothing else left to do and an innate desire to be of use, she started to make a sauce for her meal, grabbing the peanut butter and sesame oil. As she held the small bowl in her hand and stirred slowly, she stole glances at him, trying to get a read on the extent of the injuries he was hiding. 

“Are you sure you don’t need me to-”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he interrupted, the words a bit more biting than he’d intended. 

“Tone,” she warned, keeping her focus on her task. After a few months of being around him, she knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but she wasn’t going to let it slide.  

Nanami at last shifted his attention to her and nodded. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, but what’s up with you? You’re not usually this neurotic.”

Nanami chuckled, setting down his chopsticks on a dish. “I’m usually worse.”

“But you’re never this quiet either.”

He didn’t respond at first, shrugging and shaking his head gently, as he looked back down at their soon-to-be dinner.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” he said. 

Y/N knew it was bullshit. Nanami slept the most out of the three first-years. Haibara always bounded through the dorms first thing in the morning, while Y/N rotted in bed and anxiously awaited her second alarm as she tried to fall back asleep. Nanami was always the first to go to bed and the last one to wake up. His alarm went off at 7:30 on the dot, and he somehow had enough time to dress, pack, brush his teeth, and still be the first one in the classroom. On weekends, he’d sleep for 12 hours at a time. That is, if Haibara or Y/N didn’t pound on his door and let themselves in, shaking him gently until he rolled over, his arm across his eyes, as he sleepily processed what they were asking of him.

As Nanami reached over the heated pan to hand Y/N a bowl, he grunted slightly, clenching his jaw as if it would lessen his pain by causing it somewhere else in his body. Y/N noticed and furrowed her brows.

“Where’s the cut?” she asked, hoping she had guessed what was putting him in a mood yet miffed that he’d hidden it from her this long. Knowing Nanami, he probably tried to wrap it himself, but Y/N knew he didn’t have the supplies for it. He’d used them up on Haibara’s arm gash the week prior when Shoko was out of town on a mission of her own. 

“I’m fine,” he said, stirring the soup that began bubbling, froth forming around the edges of the pot. 

“Kento…” she said in a stern tone, the same one you’d use on a dog holding the sock you were about to put on. His first name was always a warning when it came from Y/N’s lips. 

“It’s on my side. I’ll take care of it once I restock on bandages.”

“In a week? Show me,” she insisted. Nanami lifted the left side of his shirt to reveal a cut about 4 inches long across the bottom of his rib, into his stomach. Y/N touched the area around it, to which Nanami winced. 

“Let me get my kit.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“And I told you I’m getting my kit, Kento, ” she said his name with a forceful tone. Nanami knew there was no point in fighting, so he closed his mouth, signaling he wouldn’t challenge her. 

She was always proud of herself when she got him to comply, as he did it so rarely with anyone else.“If you die of sepsis, I’m stuck with a life of dining hall meals.”

When she returned, she knelt at his side, pulling out the contents of the kit. 

“Hold your shirt up.” She tore sheets off the roll of shitty paper towels originally stocked in the bathroom and dabbed at the cut. Y/N applied an antibiotic, then held the gauze over the wound. “Hold this.” 

She didn’t really have to tell him. He could hold his own as a medic, but the stubborn bastard often refused to take care of himself. Nanami was the first one to throw himself in front of others at practice or in the field. Teachers and students alike had chided him for it, but it had become his personality. Y/N took it upon herself to make sure he got through each day.

She taped the gauze down to his sides.

 “Thank you,” he said, lowering his shirt and returning his attention to the pot in front of them. 

“Don’t mention it. Thank you for dinner.”

Nanami smiled at her. “Of course.”

**********************

July 2010

Y/N’s shitty apartment

She often thought of that day when she returned from missions. It had become routine to catch up with Nanami and Haibara in one of the three’s rooms, just as it had become routine for Nanami to come to her for first aid. But as the years passed, she thought less and less of those moments—but the memories never got any less vivid. Y/N would play the Cranberries off of her record player, and they would stretch out, Y/N lying across the bed with her feet up the wall, Haibara on the floor, and Nanami perched on a chair. On more exhausting days, he'd lean back, resting his elbows on the desk behind him, letting his head rest over the back of the chair as he stared at the ceiling and wondered how Y/N had enough decorations to cover each inch of it, along with her already busy walls. She’d translate her favorite songs, trying to convert them into fans, to no avail.

Now, she returned to her cramped and crumbling apartment, living off whatever half-opened packages her roommates had left in the cupboards. They were gracious enough to give her the better cut of rent, most likely out of pity, despite their own less-than-ideal financial states. Some nights she survived on convenience store meals and tea, hoping it would sate her hunger until she got back to the school in the morning, where she could rob the teachers’ lounge and the once despised dining hall.

How the tides turn.

Y/N shut the front door, tugging at the handle just the right way to drag the bottom of it over the warped floorboards, exacerbated every year by the excessive humidity. Her roommates had all settled back in after work on the stained couch, fanning themselves with magazines to compensate for the building’s lackluster air conditioning unit that dripped into an old takeout container. Their winter blankets were piled into a box in the corner of the room with a basket of miscellaneous trinkets: command hooks, tape, pens, sticky notes, candies, all useless enough to be forgotten about, but important enough not to throw away in each monthly deep clean. They offered half-hearted greetings, which Y/N kindly returned before opening the fridge. It was so hard to focus enough to actually process what was there for her to eat. She thought perhaps she could sleep off the mind fog, so she grabbed a bruised apple, passed her roommates, who were engrossed in some conversation about an absinthe fairy, and went to her room.

Despite the months since graduation and Nanami’s disappearance, she didn’t feel any less angry towards him. The bastard wasn’t there to see her be pissed at him, but she felt it nonetheless, their string a wash of colors, reds and pinks and maroon. 

Y/N looked at the call she had missed back in Sapporo and considered calling Nanami back. It was a nightly battle, but she held onto the hope that one night she’d be too tired to care, and the passage of time would lead to her eventually letting go. Unfortunately, it was not that night. Y/N fell asleep on top of the covers with her phone open, letting an old voicemail he’d left her from high school play over and over, lulled by the tired and familiar cadence of his voice:

“Hey, Y/N, I’m gonna be late, but the boba stall finally got in more mango, and I know that's your favorite…”

Sleep didn’t come easily, despite the exhaustion permeating her body. Every few hours, Y/N woke up, not awake enough to do anything productive, but with too much going on in her mind that she couldn’t fall back asleep. When she woke the next morning, she felt almost hungover. 

At sunrise, she boarded the metro as usual, dragging herself through the city until she reached the station. A groan fell from her lips as she saw her translucent reflection in the window of the train, but it was too late to fix the red in her eyes. She closed her eyes and tried to forget her appearance as the train began to move. 

She soon entered Tokyo Jujustu High School, trying her hardest to give a carefree smile and a gentle “good morning” to the passing staff, but the corners of her mouth felt stiff, and her eyelids were heavy. As she rounded the corners of the hallways, Y/N hoped there was coffee left in the pot in the teacher’s lounge, but with the staff meeting, she doubted her overworked coworkers felt gracious enough to save her some. She walked into the staff meeting and took a seat against the wall, greeting Mei Mei and Yaga as they walked in.

“Goddamn,” the word fell past the principal’s lips before he could stop himself. 

She looked up at Yaga’s comment and gave a weak smile. “Rough night. Don’t worry about me.” 

He furrowed his brows at her obvious deflection, but moved on. Even if it had been a few months since her graduation, she still felt out of her depth in the school’s conference rooms. It was bad enough being the newest staff member, so drawing more attention to herself was not what Y/N had planned for the morning. Or ever.

The door slammed open. “Good morning!”

As if the atmosphere itself shifted, Y/N instantly felt irritated and looked up at the door to see Gojo strut in, grinning like an idiot. His energetic attitude was so fucking annoying. Y/N wished she had even a quarter of his energy. It would’ve kept her from zoning out every few minutes or her eyelids from drooping during pauses in conversation. It didn’t help that the school kept the building comfortably cool, a nice contrast to her apartment, considering the summer weather. The atmosphere lulled her into a daze that she had to continuously move to stave off. Until Gojo walked in and annoyed her enough to do the job.

“Woah, what happened to you?” he asked, standing over her, bent at the waist to look, very closely, at her face with his head tilted, a brow arched, and a finger to his lips. Y/N groaned slightly at his intrusion into her personal space and dreaded the idea of working until she could slip away and nap under a desk somewhere. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said.

“That’s obvious,” he remarked, grinning and taking his seat.

Yaga sighed before interrupting the conversation to begin the meeting, “Alright, now that you’re here…” he glanced at his watch, “eight minutes late… let’s get started.”

Forty minutes later, with the principal still droning on about the planning for the Sister School event next year, Y/N wanted to die. She stared at the door with wide, bored eyes, praying someone interesting might burst through it, or, better yet, the whole room might just fucking explode. She zoned back in when he started assigning people to coordinate visits with some of the potential first-years for the next school year. 

Mei Mei nodded as Yaga asked her to inquire after a young girl who supposedly blew up a tide pool with her mind. “I can go to Osaka by Thursday, for the right price…” 

“You know what would be the right price? ¥50 shots at Thump ,” Gojo sat up in his chair, a grin across his lips. 

“Thump?” Y/N asked, against her better judgment, amidst the stunned silence of the group.

“It's this great bar in Shinjuku. Amazing lemon drops.” 

Everyone sat in silence for a moment, as if pretending they didn’t hear him. Yaga spoke again. “Anyway, Y/N, I know you’re fine with meeting some potential students in Okinawa, but I haven’t been able to get the flights approved with the higher-ups. They’re trying to cut costs, so we might just have to communicate via correspondence…”

“But it's much easier to explain Jujutsu even as a concept in person. Why would a kid decide to move hours from home to a strange school because they got a letter?” Y/N knew this line of thinking was coming and had reviewed some spreadsheets before the meeting. “I mean, all due respect to the higher-ups, that Zenin coming-of-age ceremony last month cost more than our entire yearly budget.”

“Well, the Zenins have their own money,” the principal sighed. 

“But, no, see, I looked into the overall financial reports for June, and at least half of that money came from higher-up donations,” she said, arguing passionately, pulling the spreadsheets out of the folder she’d brought. Her shoulders sagged as Yaga shook his head again. 

“A good amount of the higher-ups are Zenin.”

Her voice was getting higher and faster. “But, I’m just saying, that’s a party, this is the future of jujutsu, it's not wasting money—” 

“You know what wouldn’t be a waste of money? ¥50 shots at Thump !” Gojo interrupted enthusiastically, his blindfold apparently keeping him from reading the room. It didn’t keep him from cringing a bit at Y/N’s glare. 

“Satoru, the adults are talking,” she replied, going back to fighting the principal about flights to Okinawa.

The meeting wrapped up an hour later, with no progress made. As they were all picking their things up off the table, trying to pretend things weren’t extremely tense, Gojo made one more attempt at forcing happy hour onto his coworkers. 

“ Thump plays really good music, and I know the bartender, so there’s no line…” Gojo’s voice trailed off a bit as Mei Mei and Yaga walked out, completely ignoring him. 

Y/N patted his back. “Maybe you should ask people when they’re not stressed the hell out, Satoru.”

**********************

June 2006

A McDonald’s somewhere in Koenji, Tokyo

“Large fries and…” Gojo had a finger to his lips as he stared up at the menu of the McDonald's, his face scrunched up as he scanned the screen over and over again, deciding what to add. “A drink.”

The poor worker had wide eyes, either because Gojo was ordering a shit ton of food or because he was, simply put, Gojo Satoru. “Just to make sure I have this right…” she said, looking down at her screen and scratching at the skin just under her ear, “that’s a drink, a side of fries, and 10 burgers.”

Gojo grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets and letting his head droop to the side. “Yep!”

“That’s so nice of Gojo to order for us,” Haibara said, fiddling with a straw wrapper. 

Across the table, Nanami scoffed, but smiled at his friend’s faith in Satoru. “I doubt that’s what he’s doing.”

“Why do you say that?” Shoko asked, from the other side of the table where she was prodding at Geto as he mindlessly typed into his phone. Before he could respond, Gojo returned with a receipt half hanging out of his pocket, his glasses sliding down his nose, and a tray of food. 

“Oh, you’re here too?” he asked Y/N as she approached the table from the bathroom. 

She threw her hands up in frustration. “I walked over with you guys.”

“I had no idea,” Gojo said, smirking as he demolished a burger. 

“Be nice to her, Satoru,” Geto chided. 

Y/N looked over at Nanami, who shook his head as if to say, ‘it’s not worth it.’

“I saved you a spot,” Haibara said, lifting his jacket from the booth next to him and laying it in his lap, patting the red vinyl seat and grinning up at her. It was nice to know that, despite the older ones in the group’s antics, Haibara always noticed her. 

She glared at Gojo as she sat down, but he was already distracted by something else, namely, Geto, who was chiding him for not sharing his mountain of food. This, as usual, started an argument between the two upper-class men that the rest of the group had to sit through. 

A minute into the fight, Nanami turned to her and Haibara. “Do those two ever stop arguing?”

Y/N laughed and covered her mouth, hoping they hadn’t heard her. Not that they would have over Gojo’s raising voice. 

Nanami was right. Their arguments weren’t exactly private. Their voices carried and Gojo’s ego took up whatever space his voice didn’t. At times, Y/N and Nanami could hear them arguing through the walls as they tried to study, stuffing their jackets at the base of the door to block out as much sound as possible to no avail. 

A week ago was one such time–that week’s fight between the upperclassmen had started because Geto refused to skip training and see a movie with Gojo–which Y/N and Nanami knew because they could hear every single word from her dorm room. 

Nanami rested his head against his hand in frustration as Y/N pounded a fist against the wall.

“I wish they would shut the fuck up. I’m going to fail this exam,” she complained, exasperatedly throwing herself into her seat.

“They’re not the reason you’re going to fail.” Nanami quipped back.

“What?”

“You started studying today, I’d say it’s your own fault if you don’t pass.”

“Well they’re not fucking helping,” she said, throwing her eraser at his head from where he sat on the other side of her desk, “and neither are you.” He caught it effortlessly and smirked, resuming his task that the upperclassmen on the other side of the thin dorm wall had so rudely interrupted. Y/N, quickly bored by her studies, had hoped Nanami would indulge in the opportunity to relax. 

“What are they arguing about now?” He asked, scribbling something down in his notebook while fidgeting with his new eraser. 

Y/N sighed and slid deeper into her chair, letting her head rest against the back. “The movies…it doesn’t seem like a huge deal, but they were really getting into it last week.”

“What were they talking about last week?”

Y/N smirked and sat up. “You’re a gossip, you know that?”

Nanami scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“You love to call everyone out, but you’re really bad at reading yourself.”

That finally got him to stop what he was doing and give her the attention she had been wanting. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest with an expression that made Y/N think he was trying to get her to confess something. “You think I’m good at reading people?”

“Oh, of course.”

“But…?”

“But you use the information you get to make people feel bad about themselves.”

He was staring so intently at Y/N, she started to feel nervous, but she wasn’t about to back down. She wondered if this is how Gojo and Geto felt with each other. Maybe this is why they were always arguing. Once you really know someone, the idea of a fight is more enthralling than it is nervewracking. Y/N and Nanami had gone through enough generic high school trauma alongside the joys of jujutsu sorcery that she stopped worrying that her confrontational attitude and rude comments would scare him away. No petty fight would change that for them. It would take a miracle, or the end of the world to split them apart. It was a new feeling for Y/N, but it was so addictive. It made her want to see how she could push the boundary and find the line that crossed into ‘too much.’

It was a stupid thing to do, and Y/N wasn’t entirely sure why she wanted to. Maybe she was worried that their friendship couldn’t actually survive as much as she thought. Maybe she wanted to make it all fall apart just to prove to herself that her anxieties were right, and that Nanami would end up hating her in the end anyways. That it was good to get it over with earlier, before she could get too invested. Or maybe she was truly a bitch at heart.

“I don’t tolerate bullshit. If it has to be said, I’ll say it.” 

“Even if it hurts someone else’s feelings?” Y/N asked, leaning forward on the desk with her head propped up on her elbows. 

 “I’m willing to be the villain if it means someone learns what they’re not realizing on their own,” Nanami said, mimicking Y/N’s posture. Her heart pounded a little faster, excited to be volleying with someone who could keep up. All she wanted was to push Nanami’s buttons and it felt like she was getting close.

“What do you think Gojo needs to hear?” she asked, tilting her head, her gaze intent on Nanami’s as he thought. 

“His cockiness, while not unearned, is going to get him in trouble one day, and he’s lucky Geto isn’t sick of it already.” 

Y/N nodded. “You should tell him that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” she asked with exaggerated surprise. “You just said you’re fine being the villain.”

“Because he’s not in a place to listen to it. I’m not going to waste my time telling him something that he’s not able to process.”

His eyebrow raised ever so slightly. She would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been staring him down. It meant Nanami thought he had the upper hand in the conversation, which was absolutely unacceptable. Her lungs felt heavy and her stomach was warm as the fury rose within her. She was annoyed and angry yet so exhilarated. 

“You’re so quick to tell me things I can’t process,” she said, standing, leaning over her planted palms. 

“You can,” Nanami stood as well, his voice as calm as ever, but his posture indicated otherwise with his tensed shoulders and palms gripping into the desk so hard that the veins in his hands were bulging. 

“I can?” Y/N asked.

“You can.”

“That’s not for you to decide-”

“Maybe you just don’t want to hear it.”

The two were standing, face to face, half over the desk between them, covered in papers and textbooks, homework long forgotten. Neither of them noticed that the argument next door had quieted. Gojo and Geto had either made up or realized that the argument between Nanami and Y/N was far more interesting. A better use of their time.

“Then why still tell me?” Y/N asked, focusing on how her breath pounded out of her lungs after whispering her question out, letting it linger in the space between their faces with air that simmered.

“Because I respect you,” he said, holding his eyes to Y/N’s gaze. Nanami’s sincere tone threw Y/N off her stride, putting a roadblock in her train of thought. 

“You do?” she joked, unable to think of an intellectual response. 

“And I trust you,” he said, unmoving. And in that moment, Y/N forgot she was angry at her upperclassmen. Of course Gojo didn’t give a shit about her. His whole world must’ve revolved around his friendship. Y/N understood the all-encompassing feeling of being seen so fully that the idea of spending time with anyone else became pointless.  It made sense why Gojo spent all of his time with Geto. It made sense why he teased and bullied Y/N. It made sense, but it was a bit of a pain to reintroduce herself to him the first 4 times they “met”.

The actual first time they met, he and Geto went through the whole infinity, limitless, six eyes speech and, just by how he told it, she knew she’d be annoyed by him for the rest of her life. She decided to test his technique by throwing the berries from her lunch at him until his smile dropped into an annoyed look. Y/N was so proud of herself that she turned and asked Nanami for his shoe. Despite that, Gojo asked her name the next 3 times they interacted. 

But it wasn’t the end of the world if Gojo Satoru didn’t like her. She had Steamy Sundays.

**********************

July 2010

Thump

Y/N arrived at the bar, pushing her way towards Gojo’s mess of white hair in the back. She smiled awkwardly as a shirtless man brushed past her, too drunk to notice how his body glitter spread across the front of her black top. She just laughed and shook her head, unconsciously nodding along to the Rihanna song blasting throughout the bar. To her surprise, Thump actually seemed fun, even if a bit kitschy. She wondered if Gojo picked it for her or for himself, considering the American music and the free-spirited atmosphere. Perhaps they simply both fit in here more than they cared to admit. 

As she made her way to the back, the music got somewhat softer.  It was relatively busy, with groups chatting and others mingling, the atmosphere lending itself to conversation. When she came up on Gojo, seated on a cheetah print barstool, sipping a drink out of a heart-shaped martini glass, she sighed, readying herself for the night ahead. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be there–she actually was very excited to get plastered on Gojo’s tab. But Gojo reminded her of the vacuum of loneliness inside of her. It seemed to her that they both tried to fill that void with the same ineffective methods, his failures a painful reminder of her own. Part of this new friendship, as emotionally painful, annoying, and astounding as it may be, required showing up. After high school, she understood the importance of it and didn’t want to lose her grip on the one chance of companionship that was offered to her since Haibara’s death. Spending a night with her coworkers while sober was some torture concocted in hell specifically for her. Especially at a place named Thump. 

Of all things. 

She tried to convince herself that if the night went to shit, it would at least be a bonding experience, something to laugh at later. 

As she pushed through the crowd of half naked men and scantily clad women at the bar, she blinked hard, using her cursed energy to force her threads to come into her field of view. She was surprised when she struggled to find the connection between herself and Gojo, which was normally a shade of blue, the color of acquaintance. It had always been easy to find because it ran slightly purple, distinguishing it as something more than simple indifference. When her eye finally caught it between the neon array that swarmed the space from the mass of people, she found that the color had changed. It was like a shitty gender reveal, or cotton candy, with splotches of blue and pink alternating down the line. She wrapped it around her finger, ignoring the memories that came to the front of her mind, and followed it, going deeper into the bar. 

Gojo wasn’t donning his usual smirk, and he wasn't holding himself like he usually would, leaning rather than just sitting. Instead, he was slouched against the back of the chair, staring off with his eyes glazed over, deep in thought, absentmindedly swirling his straw around his drink. Y/N noticed she was the first to arrive despite being a few minutes late. Her wallet couldn’t afford the amount of alcohol she needed. 

Fantastic. 

“Hey,” she said, sliding into the seat at the counter next to him. Gojo pulled his focus from his mind and grinned, propping his elbow up on the counter with his head in his hand.

“Well, look who showed up.” His charm had returned, but it couldn’t ease the feeling she had in her gut about how he was actually feeling.

“Are you surprised?” she asked, tucking her bag between her knees and the counter.

“I didn’t take you as the type to spend time with me outside of work.”

“I was feeling gracious.”

“That’s not a word I would use to describe you,” Gojo slid the laminated happy hour menu to her.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Y/N realized she had fucked up the moment she said it. It had struck something in Gojo, but he didn’t falter. Instead, he slathered the facade on thicker. 

“But you’re no fun when you’re sober,” he fake-pouted.

“How do you know I’ll be more fun drunk…?” She asked, pretending to read the menu. 

“Nowhere to go but up!”

“Fuck off.”

They weren’t angry with each other, they were just competing to see who would give in first. There was a tension that wasn’t hateful, but stubborn. Gojo stared right into her eyes, challenging her. They were so similar, Y/N knew neither of them wanted to be the one to bring up the fact that no one else showed up. Because of their similarity, they had an unspoken understanding, an agreement almost, between them that they were friends, but they didn’t want to be. It’s not easy being around a version of yourself where you only see what you hate. 

She sighed deeply enough to catch Gojo’s attention and reached into her bag and said, “I was going to save this for later, but I figure you might want it now.”

Gojo watched as she pulled a large bottle of sake out enough to show the label without pulling it out completely. He laughed. 

“What's that for?” 

“I was saving it for Nanami’s 20th, but…” she shrugged her shoulders. “I want it out of my room.”

He kept smiling, but it softened into one more genuine than usual. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

**********************

July 2010

Tsubasa Beach, Tokyo

They ended up on a beach (don’t ask how, they didn’t even know), and for a while, it was just Y/N throwing the bottle back. “Why weren’t we friends before now?” Gojo asked.

“Are you serious?” Y/N asked. Her words slurred a little as she had crossed the line from tipsy to drunk 4 sips ago. “There were 6 of us, and I had to reintroduce myself to you like 5 times.”

Gojo’s eyes widened as he smiled, clearly about to laugh at her. “That was a bit. Did you not know that?”

A bit.

Y/N wanted to kill him. “Are you fucking kidding me? Of course, I didn’t know. I had just moved from another country, and I was a 16-year-old girl.” Gojo cackled beside her, his hands at his stomach as he leaned back into the sand. “I thought you hated me,” she said.

“No,” Gojo said, sitting up, “it was just really easy to mess with you.” 

Y/N shook her head, smiling a little at how ridiculous the whole situation was. “What, did you hate me?” Gojo teased.

“A little.”

“No, seriously,” he said, “did you?”

“I did!” she said defensively. “One time—” She paused to wheeze loudly, the bottle unsteady in her hand. “One time we played fuck marry kill with you, Geto, and Shoko—”

Gojo smiled at her, amused, as she continued to laugh at her own story. “And?”

“We all fucking killed you!” She slapped her knee as she bent over, cackling. 

He laughed. “Sure you did.”

“No, like, there was a whole debate, but it was over whether to marry Shoko or Geto. You always got killed,” she slurred, wiping tears from under her eyes. Rather than accepting reality, Gojo stubbornly believed his own. “I know you all wanted me. It’s okay, you don’t have to hide it anymore. I know you were intimidated by me in high school,” he raised his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“Eww. No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Gojo said, “you wanted Nanami.”

“You wanted Geto.”

“Are you still lying to yourself about that?”

“Oh, and you’re so honest, yourself,” she said. She didn’t realize she was getting mad until she spat it out. “Why don’t you drink?” she asked, setting the sake down next to her on the sand where she leaned back against her elbows, staring off at the sea. 

“I do,” Gojo said, exhaling a little too deeply to be telling the truth.

She squinted at him. 

“Bullshit. You haven’t taken a sip of this and you barely touched the drink you got at the bar. Even if you’re a lightweight, that’s not the reason you don’t drink. And I’m all you’ve got, so, spill.”

 He looked at her with his resting smile, shaking his head slightly. Her blunt honesty and accurate reading was refreshing, amusing even. “There’s no point in hiding it from me,” she said, giggling, and Gojo laughed along, shaking his head. Y/N was drunk, and Gojo was vulnerable but neither of them realized that they were laughing because they were so fucking lonely. 

“Can’t get anything past you,” he said, catching his breath a little and looking back at her. “I’m not one to let down my guard. I know you remember the last time I did.” Gojo was still smiling, but there was something different behind it. Like he was going to start crying if he really thought about the story behind it. He didn’t have to say much more than that for Y/N to understand what he was referencing. 

“Why am I here then?” she asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re not going to open with me, there’s no point in me trying to be your friend.”

It hurt a little that he let her have this hope, even if only for a few days. If he really felt that way. Gojo nodded slowly, staring off at the inkiness of the ocean, the waves curling over themselves, the foam lining each swell before dissipating and leaving the surface black and lightless once again.

“I saw you after,” Gojo finally said, still looking out, trying to find the line of the horizon, “I know you don’t want me dead, so I feel like I can trust you.”

“You can,” she said. Y/N was starting to cry as she watched tears start forming at the edges of Gojo’s eyes. He looked at her and smiled. Y/N didn’t know why, but she smiled back. 

“You're just like me, you know,” he said and the acknowledgement made Y/N’s throat dry up. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, drawing figures into the sand to keep her from sobbing. Why was that so upsetting to hear?

“Yes, you do. Ever since the day you and I had to track down Geto. You’ve known.” Haibara was gone too. And recently, she’s been feeling the same way she did then, despite the years that have passed. She hopes she’ll catch a glance of one of them while she passes through the city or when she’s at the grocery store. Every flash of blonde hair gives her just enough hope that when it’s inevitably crushed, she’s angry she even thought about it. About him. Even with the blindfold, she knew Gojo had been doing the same thing.

 “I figured if we’re the same person, am I really letting my guard down?” It was the reason why they weren't friends for so long she never thought it could be the thing that bound them together.

“Well, then,” she said, holding the bottle up as if proposing a toast, “that means you have to drink with me. Or at least we’ll take turns.” Gojo smiled at that. “It's your turn tonight.” 

**********************

July 2010

Y/N’s shitty apartment

The next morning Y/N was fucked. 

She was so hungover she couldn't tell if she was still drunk. Every movement of her head sent another wave of nausea to her stomach, making her wish she could just vomit it all up and move on, but no matter how hard she tried, nothing came up. She was resigned to a day of dizziness and headaches. Passing through her apartment was a hard enough battle, she didn’t know how she was going to survive getting to work and making it through the rest of the day. 

While waiting to cross the street, she sent Gojo a text, complaining about her hangover, when out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a curse. It was small, at least smaller than the ones she’d been taking on since starting as a teacher, and bright pink. It looked like a little hammerhead shark with legs and hands.

Y/N instinctively grabbed the closest string she could find and swiped to cut through the poor creature, only to realize that there hadn’t been one in the first place. “ Oh my God …” she said, scrunching her face up and rubbing the heel of her hands into her brows. The last time she was this drunk was in high school when Gojo had snuck a few bottles in after curfew. Shoko and Nanami outdrank the whole lot of them, leaving Y/N, Geto, and Gojo destitute for the next day and a half. They already didn’t get time off, their bodies constantly exhausted. So, drinking when they were finally let out of training at 10 pm wasn’t the smartest decision, but it was theirs. It was a night of normal teenhood that they cherished despite the horrid hangover. 

Even the memory of drinking made Y/N’s stomach churn. She had to get to work so she could at least die of misery and liver failure in private. In the subway, she sat and took in a few deep breaths to keep whatever was in her stomach down. Her gaze hadn’t gotten back into focus yet, so she let her head tilt back against the wall and let her eyes haze over the other passengers. No one caught her particular interest until the man diagonally to her had the same blonde hair as Nanami, but with a shorter cut, and a dark suit with a corporate key card clipped to his belt loop. Nanami wouldn’t work a stuffy corporate job. While he appreciated routine, he hated the idea of following the mighty few who sat in their towers and took advantage of their people to make themselves more powerful. And he wouldn’t have that cropped hairstyle. He always liked his hair longer, it went with the anti-system thing he had going on.

Y/N had introduced him to American emo music because he looked the part. She translated all the songs, showed him music videos, and burned him CDs with his favorite ones on it, glad to be able to share a part of her culture and childhood with him. They had the same ideals, that’s why he liked it so much, all “fuck the system,” & “stick it to the man.” But really, he had always hated the Jujutsu World. Especially after Haibara died. 

He didn’t want to comply with the monotonous system of the real world, but the alternative was an imminent, premature death, more likely to be violent than not. And in the Jujutsu world, the system was dominated by rules that never put him first. The higher-ups were cowards, sending off sorcerers to die for people who didn’t know they were fighting for them. He could choose the life of the real world, but he couldn't choose it as a sorcerer. She blinked slowly at the fake Nanami, deciding he was another hangover-induced delusion. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

July 2010

The Tokyo Metro

Nanami was on the train to a meeting with a client across town when he unknowingly sat across from Y/N, his body freezing as he realized it was her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she muttered out loud, interrupting his normally quiet morning commute, “and he wouldn’t wear that fuckass suit.” 

The shock of running into her kept him staring despite her obviously not recognizing him as she drifted off to sleep. Seeing Y/N brought up every memory and feeling from the last time he saw her. Because he never expected to see her again.

Even after all the months since his graduation, he couldn’t help but feel like she was about to let herself into his room with a handful of green onions and a new song to show him. 

The overhead speaker announced his stop, the one right before the one that he used to take to Jujutsu High. He took this train ride weekly, and he was surprised he hadn’t run into her earlier. He rose to his feet and as he passed Y/N, nudged her foot enough to rouse her. He stood at the door, a few seats down from her, watching as she woke up, noticed her upcoming stop, and took a sigh of relief.

**********************

December 2006

JUJU STROLL!

“Okay, okay,” Y/N said, holding her hands out over the rug. “Fuck, marry, kill: Gojo, Geto, and Shoko.” Nanami sat for a second in silence, thinking deeply. Haibara’s face scrunched a little, and he stared off in the distance. She looked at them, stunned. “Oh, come on, guys, this should be easy.”

“Kill Gojo…” Nanami said slowly.

“Obviously.”

“Marry Geto-”

“Pause.”

Nanami looked up at her and they realized they were on opposite sides of the debate. “You should obviously marry Shoko,” she said. 

“I understand Geto way more than I do Shoko.”

“No, you’re intimidated by Shoko.” 

“No, I’m not.”

“Well, I am, and I’m kind of into it. So, fuck you.”

The two argued back and forth before they realized Haibara hadn’t made his decision and was still staring intently at the wall. He was thinking hard.

“Haibara…” Y/N said. He squinted his eyes a little before coming to a conclusion. “I don’t want to kill anyone.” 

Y/N and Nanami looked at each other and then back at Haibara. “You have to choose,” she said. Haibara looked a little sad before he looked stressed. He shook his head defeatedly. Haibara said in a small, defeated voice, “...kill Gojo.”

“Oh, thank God,” Nanami said, relieved that his closest friend was on the same page. But the question remained of which side Haibara would take. “Who are you marrying?” Y/N pried, poking at Haibara’s arm.

“I don’t know.”

Nanami and Y/N jumped at the opportunity to make their case, speaking over each other at Haibara before turning to each other and arguing. “It feels like I’m picking between you two,” Haibara muttered out, distraught. 

“You are,” Nanami said. 

The night ended with Y/N giving a speech and Nanami giving a structured presentation to argue their cases before realizing Haibara was too nice to choose.

Chapter Text

August 2006

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

Riko Amanai was dead. Gojo and Geto had retrieved the body before returning to school and promptly acting as if nothing had happened. Satoru, in particular, was head of this initiative, running through the dormitories and banging on doors, suggesting they all take the train into the city for their day off. He hadn’t even wiped the blood from his face. 

Y/N, a first-year still trying to gain her footing, was the first of them to greet him on the steps, followed by the rest of the first- and second-years. She tried to keep her eyes from lingering on his scarred face. She wasn’t present to witness the disaster earlier in the day, but she came back from yet another tracking mission to the resulting destruction: crumbling buildings, a torn-up forest, and half-dead students. Yaga gave the students a day off so they could reset the slate and begin reconstruction. 

Everyone had arrived, and they had just taken their first steps toward the train station when—

“Satoru.”

He stopped to face Principal Yaga, standing at the top of the steps with a conflicted look on his usually stoic features. 

“You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a second,” Gojo said, flashing a brave smile. They all knew he wouldn’t. A chill breeze blew through them as they continued walking.  

“Oh, wait,” Y/N said, looking down at her outfit. “I forgot my jacket.” 

Nanami rolled his eyes but stopped, his hands in his pockets as he nodded his head to send Y/N off. She often complained when a part of her outfit was askew or missing. Nanami and Haibara came to expect delays in their plans until Y/N’s look was complete, complete with a bandana, baggy jeans, and all. She ran back into the class building and peeked into two classrooms before she found the one where she had left her faux black leather jacket.

Her footsteps slowed as she overheard Gojo’s voice in the room across the hall. 

“All I’m asking for is a day off with everyone else. I think it’s only fair after everything today.”

She grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair and snuck out the door, waiting against the wall, eavesdropping. 

“That’s why you must keep training, Satoru. To avoid what happened today,” Yaga explained.

“Do the higher-ups really think I’ll get anything done? I literally died .”

“I tried everything I could to send you on this tomorrow, but they weren’t having it. It’s a local deity—”

“Well, fuck them. They’re not the ones doing all the dirty work.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed. Gojo had always been insubordinate, but she’d never heard him curse at a teacher. She’d never heard his voice shake like this. 

“Satoru,” Yaga chided.

“I’m not listening to some corrupt cowards that sit on their asses, tucked away, and send kids to die. I’m worked to the fucking bone over here.” His voice cracked, but Yaga didn’t interrupt. Y/N held her breath.

“Satoru…” Yaga said gently. “Your driver arrives in 20 minutes.”

Y/N heard footsteps approaching and panicked. The best she came up with in the 3 seconds it took for him to get to the door was to take a step back into the classroom and start walking out like she had been in there the whole time. But when they locked eyes in the hallway, Y/N instantly understood that Gojo knew everything. There’s no hiding from the six eyes. 

Still, he pushed past her, mumbling, “Get out of my way.”

It wasn’t harsh. It was a bad attempt at maintaining the cocky facade that Y/N had just seen underneath.

**********************

April 2011

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

It had been over a year since Y/N and Nanami graduated, and, with the new crop of students coming in, she was finally going to teach at Tokyo Jujutsu High School. Equally nervous and excited, she’d spent the entirety of March, between the most recent graduation and the beginning of the new year, decorating her classroom. She used the majority of her most recent sorcerer paycheck (or at least what was left of it after paying rent and student loan debt) on thrifted curtains, posters, lamps, bean bags, and more. She desperately wanted students to feel comfortable in her classroom, especially after her years of trying to get comfortable in empty classrooms during lunch periods when she didn’t have time to run back to her dorm. 

Gojo had been in charge of the first-years practically since he graduated, and was giving them a tour around the school when he stopped by her classroom. He yelled with as much pomp and circumstance as a master of ceremonies. “And this is our newest teacher!” 

She was draping a colorful, thick strip of fabric across the ceiling, and the sudden noise made her fall off her step stool. She forced herself to her feet, brushing off her flower-embroidered skirt. 

She waved, took a deep breath, and spoke, her voice cracking, “Welcome, you guys!”

The new students, two girls and a boy, shyly waved back, clearly nervous—it was their first day too, after all. Gojo grinned at the awkward exchange, deciding he would put her out of her misery. “Y/N is great, you guys, and she will teach you just as much as I do, so get used to the weird outfits and the American accent now…”

She nodded, reminding herself to curse him out later, trying to focus on the students. “Please feel free to come to me for anything, even if you just need a break, we can do… crafts, or something… I don’t know…” 

“Like origami?” One of the girls asked, her light brown hair in two braids, wringing her hands. 

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, her jewelry jingling. “Origami is perfect. Absolutely.”

The kids smiled at her, noticeably calmer. Until, of course, Gojo began shouting nonsense again and led them out of the classroom. Y/N shook her head with a laugh, walking back over to the step stool. She took a deep breath, trying not to get overexcited or stress herself out too badly. She had finally gotten most of her decorations put up when she heard a gentle knock on the door frame. Her heart stopped, assuming it was her students, but when she turned to face them, she realized it was just Ijichi. “Oh, it's you…”

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Just a year younger than her, Ijichi had graduated just a few weeks ago. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I just wanted to let you know the second years are getting back a bit late from that impromptu mission with Principal Yaga.” 

“Oh, that’s fine,” She said, smirking a bit at his words. Ijichi had always been the anxious kind, and there were still times when he forgot he wasn’t a student anymore, but a coworker. “You can probably just call him Yaga.”

Ijichi scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, right, well, I’d better—”

“No, come in, we haven’t talked in forever!” She replied, pulling the thread between the two of them, a friendly shade of pink. He was a first year when she was a second year, but she’d always tried to include him as much as possible, because she knew how it felt to be left out. He nervously leaned on the edge of her desk as she got down from her step stool, looking at some more of the colorful draping fabric on her desk. “Do you think the maroon or the teal one for that corner…?”

Ijichi looked around the colorful classroom, wondering to himself why she was so hellbent on decorating—none of the other teachers even stuck to the same room. He was often tasked with the filing and transporting of the school’s financial documents, and knew she was in far too much debt to the institution to be reasonably buying this decor, anyway. Nevertheless, he responded to the present question, finding it the simplest. “Uh… the teal.”

She nodded, a serious look on her face as she moved the step stool to the next corner. As she hung the fabric and pinned it to drape perfectly, she hummed. “So… how’s life as an assistant manager, talking to the higher-ups all the time?”

Ijichi’s face flushed. “Oh, we don’t have to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit embarrassing, graduating and not becoming a sorcerer.”

She paused, turning on the step stool to look at him with a frown. “That’s not true. I’ve heard you’re really good at what you do.” She took a deep breath before continuing, her voice a bit bitter. “I’m just saying, it’s not like you were a coward and just up and left.”

The assistant manager gritted his teeth, hissing a bit, knowing she was talking about Nanami. He decided he would try to diffuse the tension. “Well, speaking of, I just saw Nanami at the bar the other night, just outside of the next neighborhood over.”

She stilled, her head turning like a possessed doll in a horror movie. “ What ?”

“Yeah, he was with someone, I think. His hair and his clothes were different, but it was definitely him,” Ijichi elaborated, oblivious to the anger in his coworker’s eyes. 

She didn’t say anything at first, not wanting to take out the sick feeling in her stomach on poor Ijichi. Her hands fell to her sides as she furrowed her brows, trying to wrap her mind around this new information. She’d deliberately avoided looking at the thread she shared with Nanami, the pink-waxing-red connection between them, because she feared he’d run as far away as possible. Prague, or maybe the moon. 

But he was in Tokyo. On this side of town. Drinking with random people, living his life like nothing was missing. Was he never compelled to come back, just for a visit? She had liked to think maybe he did sometimes, but he couldn’t afford the flight. It was a punch to the gut to realize he might be walking distance away, simply deciding that the walk wasn’t worth it. 

“Was he with a woman?” She asked before she could stop herself, her voice a bit hoarse. 

Ijichi turned to look at her fully, looking even more nervous than normal. “Uh, I don’t—why does it—”

“Forget it,” She interrupted, embarrassed for having asked. When she spoke again, it was perhaps a bit too harsh. “You know, I really need to focus before the students get here.” 

Ijichi quickly took his chance to escape the hellishly awkward interaction. 

When the second-years finally arrived about twenty minutes later, she was deep in the recesses of her mind, which was torturing itself with memories of her time as a student. The class of four teenagers watched her, unimpressed, as she overemphasized the importance of mental well-being along with diligent studying and training. 

She droned on, with no clear conclusion in sight, “....I just... I remember being a student, and it was easy to get overwhelmed. Pent-up emotion is not the same as control, and it makes your cursed energy weaker—”

“What’s with the window garden?” A curly-haired second-year interrupted flatly, clearly bored by her rambling.

Y/N nodded, trying not to be offended by the impropriety, the clear lack of respect they had for her already. Her nervousness was showing too much for them to believe or care about anything she said, apparently. “Oh, the food here can be a bit bland, so I thought you guys might want some green onions, or cilantro, or something…which can also be beneficial. You work so hard, right, so you need to eat. You know, you’re growing kids, and all that…”

Another student, with his glasses sliding down his nose, raised his hand, speaking, “Is there a reason you’ve spoken more about our feelings than training? Since when does that matter?”

“There’s…” She paused, images of her past classmates flashing behind her eyes. “People give in to the stress, sometimes.”

**********************

Y/N’s shitty apartment

“Satoru, I bombed so fucking bad…” Y/N groaned into her phone as she walked up the uneven, creaky stairs to her apartment, tired after a mostly unsuccessful first day of teaching. 

Gojo’s laugh echoed through her phone speaker. 

“They hate you that much already? ”

“You’re not helping. Teach me the ways of your unfounded confidence.”

"Unfounded? I’m the strongest, ” He quickly replied, and she could practically hear his grin through the phone. 

“Die,” She hung up, not caring to speak to him anymore. Her bedroom door creaked as she pushed through it haphazardly, dropping her things and crashing onto her bed with a groan. She planted there for about an hour, coming to terms with the state of her life. Every few minutes, she’d remember the unimpressed looks on her students’ faces, embarrassment would take control of her muscles like a seizure, and she’d flop around on the bed and yell into her pillow until it subsided. She finally decided she couldn’t take it anymore, fishing through that sinful drawer of her bedside table for a joint. 

As she blew her first hit out the window, she decided nothing mattered anymore. She didn’t give a fuck if some teenagers didn’t like her. She didn’t even like herself when she was sixteen.

It was fine. 

Her bed was soft. She was texting Gojo, begging him to order her a pizza with his credit card. 

Everything was fine. 

At some point, deep into her weed-food coma, she found herself staring at the door, her brain repeatedly hallucinating Nanami, stumbling into her room, pushing his date up against the wall, his hands all over her. It happened over and over, a different person in his arms every time, with him gripping her waist or her ass, the color of her painted nails peeking out through his hair as she tangled her fingers through his golden strands.

None of them were her.

It was like sleep paralysis, her body too relaxed to move, the images playing in her mind even when she closed her eyes. After what seemed like hours of this jealous torture, she looked down at her hand, seeing the burning red string of connection between herself and Nanami wrapped around her finger. Her hand, uninhibited, must have reached for it without her knowledge. It was thick enough to tell her he wasn’t far away. She threw the string off her hand like it scorched her skin, and the holograms of him in her room finally ceased. 

**********************

20 blocks over, a mostly-empty izakaya

Nanami Kento, eyes dark and heavy from a long day of selling low-yield stocks and trying not to go brain dead, stared ahead at the wall of liquor behind the bar. His hand gripped his glass as his eyes focused and unfocused, his heart racing uncontrollably. 

He’d been sitting there, drinking sake like he always did, before something started pulling at his chest, and he could— he could smell her perfume? A woody mix of juniper, jasmine, and tonka—a fact he’d unwillingly learned (yet willingly memorized) in his second year after a question about her eyeliner became a show and tell of her entire vanity. And then it was her laugh, and the clicking sound her favorite shoes made on the school’s wooden floors, and the way her eyes looked in the sun. And it wouldn’t fucking stop. 

After a while, the alcohol hit, and he came to accept the ache of it. He traded sake for whiskey, drinking until he couldn’t even feel the burn in his throat. Why was this happening now, a full year later? He knew when he left that she’d be the hardest loss, and his first course of action was to find a way to push a good amount of it down. Why, on a random Monday night, had it all come back up?

There came a point where the part of him that was happy to think of her took over. The part of him that yearned, starved for her, was finally starting to feel satiated. Then, just as a small smile started to form on his lips, the image of her faded, and the absence was somehow even more overwhelming than the sudden, unexplained presence had been. He tried to ask for another drink, and the bartender cut him off, sliding a glass of water his way instead.

**********************

May 27, 2011

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

Y/N didn’t adjust to the routine of teaching as quickly as she’d hoped. Between the second-years’ defiance and the missions she was assigned to most weekends, her exhaustion left her incapable of figuring out how to get out of it. Or how to get the kids to show up to her after-school clubs. 

The after-school club had changed topics three times already. It began as an origami club, which she changed to a film club after people stopped showing up. Film club quickly became just her and Gojo watching The Lord of the Rings movie series alone in her classroom. This week, she launched a jewelry-making club, and the only student who attended was the quietest of the 3 first years, Jun. While her two peers were usually disengaged and judgmental, she remained reserved. Jun didn’t necessarily go along with her peers' antics, but she also didn’t stop them.

It wasn’t surprising that she was the odd one out. Her technique hadn’t come as easy as it had for the other two, and, as her teacher, Y/N felt like shit for being unable to figure out why. She saw the sadness and frustration in the poor girl’s eyes when Gojo pulled out the two other first years for a mission the day before, without her. However, it left them enough time for Y/N to realize that Jun’s cursed energy likely used a reverse technique. 

This made Y/N’s heart race. An excuse to talk to Shoko.  

As she walked down into Shoko’s med bay, she could hear the muffled thundering of Beyonce’s “Freakum Dress” playing. By the time she got to the room, she could see Shoko nodding her head while doing some sort of autopsy. Y/N was sure she didn’t want to know. 

“Ieiri?” she yelled over the music, rapping at the door. Y/N waited a second, kicking her feet out and shifting from side to side, before the door swung open. 

“What’s wrong?” Shoko looked like she hadn’t slept in years. She probably hadn’t. 

“Nothing’s wrong…I… I have a student who I think uses a reverse technique, and I wondered if you could… I don’t know, talk to her? I haven’t really thought it through.” She was rambling, as if she were a teenager trying to ask Shoko to the prom. They hadn’t spoken, just the two of them alone, in months. No one came to visit Shoko unless they were at death's door, and they were both too busy to talk outside of work. 

What a way to live. 

“And I thought someone just wanted to talk to me.” The doctor looked to the side, adjusting her white coat before walking back toward her autopsy table. 

Y/N was humiliated. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, I would’ve visited earlier, I just—”

“It’s fine. I’m just messing with you. But, sure. I don’t know how much I can teach her, but—”

“Oh, that’s okay, it’s such a big help that you’ll try. Don’t worry if you don’t figure out what she can do, but…” She couldn’t stop fucking talking, but she also couldn’t think of a normal way to end the conversation. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess today. Just… she gave me a poem, a couple weeks ago, cause she actually listened to my lecture, which—”

“You’re still assigning them poems?” Shoko asked, amused, not looking up from her work.

“Yeah, I mean…self-reflection is good for control.”

“No, yeah, sure, I’ve just heard—” the doctor laughed, “It’s kind of a joke in the teacher’s lounge, is all…”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, and she nodded quickly, trying not to linger on the implications of that statement. “Of course, right. I mean, the poem was…rough, but she’s the only student who even did it, so I just…I like her, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah, the poem—” Shoko shook her head, as if to keep herself from laughing. “It made its rounds.”

“Gojo,” Y/N said his name like a curse, knowing he must have sent the poem around the entire faculty. She paused for a moment, not knowing what to say, before simply stating, “She’s a good kid.”

“I mean, yeah, I’m obviously going to help her.” 

“Okay— yes— awesome—” 

Y/N waved and turned back down the hallway, cringing that her high school awkwardness with Shoko had lasted into adulthood. 

**********************

January 2007

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

“They should have given you a break from tracking tonight.” Nanami’s fringe was in his eyes, like always, and she could hear MCR playing softly from his free earbud that hung down over his chest as he walked beside her. He’d decided to walk her to the train station, where she was set to meet some grade-one sorcerer for her most recent mission. “We have a geometry exam tomorrow.”

Y/N laughed, shaking the comment off despite the circles beneath her eyes. She’d tracked curses for 20 missions in the past six days. “You’re the only one that’s gonna pass geometry anyway, even if I had time to study.”

“I would have helped you,” he insisted, annoyance creeping into his voice as he looked at her. When she had time to study, she'd bested him academically more times than he could count. She would never let him forget it. Y/N knew it bothered him to no end, but it seemed to bother him even more when she gave up, or rather, had no time to try.  “I was going to help you study tonight, and you would have been fine. I mean, seriously, you got that cut on your forehead just this afternoon.” 

“And Shoko wasn’t even here to heal it! What a waste,” she joked in an attempt to diffuse his righteous anger, a grin on her lips that greatly contrasted with his scowl. 

As they reached the station, they said their goodbyes. She was searching for a song on her iPod Shuffle when she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. 

About thirty feet down the line, leaning against the wall, was Shoko, a cigarette hanging from her lips. If she was still wearing her uniform, Y/N couldn’t tell because she was shielded from the cold down to her knees with a dark blue puffy jacket. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to decide if she had the confidence to talk to the cooler, older girl. She’d looked up to Shoko since she transferred: her trendy hair, her chill demeanor, the eyeliner perfectly smudged around her eyes. She was just so… appealing. Y/N couldn’t decide if she wanted to be her or just straight up wanted her. 

Before she could chicken out of talking to the upperclassman, Shoko noticed her, waving and calling out to her gently, “Over here!”

Y/N took a deep breath, her hands gripping her uniform skirt as she did an awkward jog-walk over to Shoko, who smiled just slightly at the younger girl. Y/N smiled giddily, just excited to be included. As she arrived, she lied,  “Sorry, Shoko, I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay,” Shoko shrugged, taking another drag. Y/N watched with wide eyes as she blew the smoke out slowly, her eyes lingering on her pink-tinted lips. “Want a drag?”

Y/N gulped, her eyes flickering to the side, seeing how Shoko was holding out the cigarette to her between her two fingers. She took it, praying she could somehow make her first time smoking look somewhat cool. Y/N set her eyes forward as she breathed in, immediately feeling a cough rise in her throat. She handed the cigarette back to Shoko, holding her breath, trying to sate the burning feeling that ran down her throat. 

At that moment, Gojo and Geto came out of the family bathroom that was small enough to be a broom closet, laughing and walking toward them. Shoko sighed, throwing her cig to the ground as she rushed inside. “Finally, you two were in there for fucking ever…”

The second the door closed behind Shoko, Y/N gave in to her coughing fit, her eyes watering as she held her forearm up to her mouth. Gojo and Geto, also out of uniform, stared down at her, smirks on both of their lips. 

“Smoking Shoko’s cigarette?” Geto asked, leaning on the wall next to her. She nodded, tears in her eyes from coughing. “You’ve never done that before, hm?”

She shook her head, bracing herself for their taunting as Gojo settled on the other side of her. They towered over her. 

“I think she was flirting,” Gojo grinned, looking her up and down, moving his head to make it obvious. “And in that outfit?”

She looked down at her outfit, assuming this was some terrible dream where she was just in her underwear, or pajamas, or naked. Instead, she just saw her coat and uniform, a bit dirtied from the two other missions she’d been on that day. “I wear this every day.” 

“And that’s what’s truly criminal about it.”

She frowned at her shoes, knowing they were joking, still feeling like she needed to crawl out of her skin. She missed Geto flicking the side of Gojo’s head, giving him a look that said to dial it back. She heaved a sigh of relief when her train arrived, speed walking onto it, waving over her shoulder when Geto offered her a goodbye. 

**********************

May 27, 2011

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

Still cringing from her encounter with Shoko, Y/N made her way to where Jun was studying in the classroom and sat on the desk next to her. “Hey, Kowakuma-san, have you ever spoken with Ieiri downstairs?”

Jun looked up from her notebook, pulled an earbud out, and shook her head. 

“I think she could be really helpful with helping you figure out your technique.” 

At the mention, Jun’s usually cordial face fell and she started running her fingers through a strand of her hair.

Shit. Y/N really needed to get more used to talking to people younger than her. “What do you think?”

Jun sighed and looked out the window, swallowing hard. Her eyes weren’t exactly green or brown, but they reminded Y/N of the trees surrounding the school. “I don’t really care.”

The despondency in the young girl’s eyes scared her with its familiarity. Teaching, she was coming to find, was some horrible fountain of youth that only brought back the feeling of it, tainted by time, things lost. 

Y/N took a deep breath. There was no use getting frustrated with Jun, or herself for that matter. “I didn’t go on missions either in high school.”

At that, Jun turned her head, eyeing her sideways, intrigued, but not wanting to give Y/N her full attention. “Well, I went on missions, but I went alone, and I wasn’t allowed to fight. I was like…a blood sniffing dog.”

Jun huffed a little, clearly annoyed. It wasn’t exactly comforting to have someone compare their trauma to yours, especially when it was unsolicited by her teacher, who tried too hard to get the kids to like them. 

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“Because I think I know how you might feel,” Y/N said, kicking her feet slightly, her heels hitting the legs of the desk occasionally. Jun leaned back, her arms crossed. A strand of her maroon hair fell out from where it was tucked behind her ear. “I mean, Jesus, I went to school with Gojo-sensei, you think I didn’t hate him?”

“I don’t hate them,” she said. “My classmates.”

Y/N felt a twinge of pride in both Jun for opening up and herself for steering the conversation back down the right path. “Of course not.”

“It’s not their fault I’m not where they’re at, but I still want them to fight for me to go with. I work just as hard. It doesn’t feel fair.”

She didn’t interrupt Jun, mostly because she was so invested in what she said and couldn’t wait to see if her hypothesis about her technique was true.

“I know Principal Yaga is just following regulations from the higher-ups, and that’s why I can't go with them,” Jun spoke slowly, as if trying not to get herself in trouble. “Part of me thinks that if I went on a mission, it would pull out whatever is hiding in me. And the higher-ups don’t understand that.”

“They don’t understand most things, I’ll tell you that,” Y/N said, a lilt to her tone and a small smile on her lips. It got Jun to chuckle. Then there was a pause; she took a deep breath, blinking a few times to ensure she wasn’t looking at her younger self. “I promise you I’ll do what I can to give you that chance.” 

Maybe it was wrong to promise that, but Y/N couldn’t help thinking about what her life would’ve been like if she’d had someone vouch for her. Gojo did eventually, but she had gone through the majority of high school with Nanami as her only support system, even after he’d checked out emotionally halfway through. 

Besides, she and Gojo became teachers to make a change. She wasn’t going to subject her students to the same neglect she had endured, just because she was bitter about having gone through it.

Jun gave a smile and nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Y/N said, sliding off the desk to stand. “I think Shoko’s your best bet to get that chance. How do you feel about meeting up with her right now?”

**********************

5:14 p.m.

Koko Bakery

After work, Y/N started her commute home. Gojo had been begging for a “girls' night” for a few weeks, and Y/N finally gave in. She stopped by a bakery on her way out of the subway station. Knowing Gojo, he’d get two shots in and eat everything in her kitchen (which wasn’t much), but she needed to keep the freak from taking to the streets in search of something more to eat.

“Could I please have 3 of these, 3 of these…” she pointed at different pastries in the case in front of her as the worker slid each pastry into bags. It should’ve been enough to feed the absolute powerhouse that was Gojo Satoru. But she spotted the last croissant in the case and couldn’t resist the temptation. “And a croissant.” Fuck it, she deserved a reward for not only surviving the day, but for successfully getting a student to dislike her overeager attitude a little less.

She paid and walked out, stopping at the corner to wait at the crosswalk, excited to get home and get drunk with Gojo, when a car swerved dangerously around the corner, eliciting a honk from a nearby driver. Y/N widened her eyes in surprise, but otherwise ignored it and crossed the street.

**********************

5:15 p.m. 

Koko Bakery

Nanami looked back at the street as he heard the screech of tires and a car horn. He sighed, sick of the sounds. Especially after the endless noise of the office: coworkers chatting, phones ringing, his boss choking out that nasally laugh. All he wanted at the end of his day was a pastry.

He stepped through the door, noting the bell above him ringing as he was greeted by the employee who worked the same time every day of the week. “What can I get you?” she asked and grabbed a bag and a pair of tongs. If Nanami cared, he’d be embarrassed by her recognizing him.

“Just a croissant and a coffee, like usual,” He said, pulling his wallet out of his suit pocket, his tired eyes blinking slowly. 

“I’m so sorry,” the worker said. Nanami looked up. “I just sold the last croissant to that lady crossing the street. But I think you’d like one of these…” she said, pointing at the top of the case at a different pastry. 

Nanami didn’t look at where she was pointing because he turned to watch the woman, in an outfit that didn’t quite match, trip over the curb. He sighed and looked back at the pastry case. “That one’s fine, just one of those, please.” 

Nanami spent that entire Friday night looking up croissant recipes on his phone.

**********************

9:00 p.m.

Y/N’s Shitty Apartment

Gojo didn’t waste any time when he arrived. He made a face at the state of the building as Y/N let him in, a shot glass and a bottle of sake in his hand. They’d gotten into a rhythm of trading off who could get shit faced, and who would have to stay sober, just in case one of them was called in for a mission.

“Girls night!” he said, in a poor imitation of an American woman (probably Y/N) before throwing his head back and drinking. 

“Dude, pace yourself. And please don’t pass out on my couch, my roommates are getting back in a few hours.”

“Relaaaax. I’m only having a few drinks,” he said, jumping over the arm of the couch and lying back, an arm behind his head. His other gripped the neck of the bottle and let it hang over onto the floor. “But you’re being less of a tightass than usual.”

“If you just wanted to drink and insult me, you could’ve done it in a text message from your own apartment,” Y/N said, sitting on the other arm, turning her head to watch as Gojo took another swig. “Yeah, but I could also do it to your face here, which is way more fun.”

Y/N stuck her tongue out at Gojo like a child, then grabbed the croissant out of the pastry bag and took a bite. It was a few hours after she bought it, but it was better than the shitty leftovers in her fridge that weren’t even hers to begin with. “Anyways…” she said between bites,  a hand covering her mouth as she spoke. “Anything interesting going on in your life?”

Gojo sighed and started pulling his blindfold off his face and flicking his finger so it slapped back into place against his skin. “The higher-ups are on my ass.”

“Again?” she asked, sucking crumbs off her thumb.

“They don’t appreciate my teaching style.”

“Why do they care?”

“Because I’m not teaching passive, mindless sheep,” Gojo said with pride, wearing his signature smirk. Y/N couldn’t help smiling with him. “I think they should just be grateful I’m not starting a coup.” He stared up at the water-stained ceiling and swirled the bottle around over the edge of the couch. “What about you?”

“Oh, you know….” she said, picking at the skin around her nails now that she had finished her croissant. “My students think I’m a freak.”

“Are they wrong?”

Y/N shot him a glare. “I’m not as much of a freak as they think I am. I think one of them doesn’t hate me as much anymore. Our string isn’t as blue as it used to be.”

“Maybe they’re just really good at faking it. Or you’re lying about the thread color.”

A few hours later, despite her weak attempts at pretending Gojo wasn’t her closest friend, his drunken humor had rubbed off on her, and she was laughing at nearly anything he said. Maybe it was just from lack of sleep. 

“Satoru, are you tired yet?” she complained, slumping into the couch with her eyes barely open. 

“I’ll put you to bed and then I’m out,” he said, swaying from where he stood on the other side of the coffee table.

Y/N lifted just her head, leaving the rest of her body limp with her brows furrowed. “Put me to bed? I’m an adult.” 

Gojo grinned and stepped over the coffee table, then leaned over and grabbed Y/N under her arms. “Bedtime!” 

It appeared his strength didn’t diminish with the rest of his brain cells in the drunken stupor because he slung her over his shoulder and started towards her room.

He tossed her on her bed. While she was confused, her mind empty with drowsiness, she was grateful not to have to move. 

“How are you getting home?” she asked, nestling her head into her pillow as Gojo pulled at the sheets and blankets out from under her.

“What?” he asked, lifting his blindfold. How that would help him hear was beyond Y/N, but she was more amused than confused. 

“You’re drunk, how are you getting home?”

“I can’t sleep here?” he asked.

“We talked about this. My roommates are coming back soon, you can’t sleep on the couch.”

“Who said anything about sleeping on the couch?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and pulling his blindfold off. His hair fell over his forehead and he made a suggestive face that Y/N hoped was ironic for the sake of his dates. She laughed but made a face of disgust. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Is this how you seduce people?” Y/N asked. 

“Can’t you see how bad I want you?” he said sarcastically, staring at her deeply with those insanely blue eyes. 

“You’re freaking me out! Put the blindfold back on.” Gojo instead knelt next to her on the bed and continued to stare at her. She shrieked and laughed.

“Can I sleep on the floor?” he asked.

“Will you put the blindfold on?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. If you snore, I’m kicking you out.”

Gojo smiled and kissed her hand, as if a medieval knight on his knees before a maiden. “I knew you loved me.” 

“Don’t push it,” she said, ripping her hand away from this, and throwing a pillow from next to her at him.

As Y/N listened to the fan to drift towards sleep, her thoughts flitted to high school. In spite of Nanami’s departure and the crippling loneliness that drove her to self sufficiency, she smiled at where she had gotten. With an unlikely friend, drunk and sleeping on the floor of her shitty apartment with one student that might like her just a little bit. It soothed her enough to get to the state between consciousness and sleep, where her muscles were shut down, and she could hear Gojo’s breaths, but her mind moved on its own, like a movie put on behind her eyelids.

For the first time, that movie wasn’t her mind’s guilt-ridden replays of past mistakes, but rather a hopeful imagination of the upcoming weeks.

**********************

June 2011

Tokyo Jujustu High School

Jun excitedly returned to Y/N’s classroom after a week of meeting with Shoko. She thanked Y/N profusely for thinking to do so as she’d figured out how best to use her technique. “Do you think this means I can practice with everyone else?”

Y/N grinned. “I’ll see what I can do about getting you a mission.” A swell of pride made her chest warm and her head light, especially as Jun’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Thank you, Sensei.”

“I’m sure you’ll catch up with the others in no time.”

After a few weeks, Jun’s technique was solid and she had good control of her energy. Between meetings with Shoko, Y/N often watched out her classroom window at the track where she trained with her two classmates, often messing around with them after sessions. It made her so happy to see a student get what she herself wasn’t granted back in high school. But Y/N’s mind usually drifted off in the silences between classes or during solo missions to her student days. Nostalgia is funny like that. You spend so much time hoping for the future, bitter about the present, that once you grow up and can never go back, it’s all you want again.

It’s a hard balance to strike. Letting go of past struggles and wrongs, reminiscing on the “good old days,” enjoying the present, and trusting that the future will come to you as it is supposed to. 

After days of persistent begging, Y/N was able to convince Masamichi to let Jun accompany her on a mission. It took a bit of negotiating and a few promises, but she reassured him that Jun was capable and that she’d step in before things got too out of hand. “Are you sure she’s ready for it?” he asked.

“I am.”

“What have her other teachers said?”

“Why does that matter?”

“I don’t want your wounds to be the reason her abilities are overestimated.” Y/N was offended. 

“I’m trying to give her a chance to prove herself. One that I didn’t get in high school.”

“And I’m supportive of that mission, but you have to be sure that it’s the right time for it,” Masamichi said, looking at Y/N with a sympathetic expression.

“She can handle it.”

**********************

August 2007

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

“This should be a simple one, but I’m sending all three of you since you’re all here…”

Nanami, Haibara, and Y/N nodded as their principal described their mission to them, looking excitedly at each other. It wasn’t often they were given assignments as a group, especially with Y/N tracking for 10-15 different missions on any given week. 

They quickly got their things together and were headed out of campus in one of the handler’s cars within the hour. 

“This is supposed to be an easy one,” Y/N, in the passenger seat (the boys hadn’t even tried to fight for the spot), had turned 180 to face Nanami and Haibara in the back as they buckled their seat belts. “We should go get food after.”

Nanami’s brows furrowed. “Are we supposed to—”

“Yaga won’t know,” She interrupted, turning to the assistant manager in the driver’s seat as they pulled out of the parking lot. “You won’t tell, right?”

The driver gave no reaction, and she grinned. 

“I’ve really been craving takoyaki,” Haibara suggested with a grin, nudging Nanami, trying to get him on board. 

Nanami let a small smile escape his lips. “If we exorcize the curse quickly.”

He watched as Y/N and Haibara grinned at each other and high-fived before looking out the window and forcing a deep breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth, like his mother had taught him on his first day of school nearly ten years prior. 

The mission is simple. We’re overstaffed. He mentally repeated the facts until they settled. This happened any time he had a mission with his fellow classmates or anyone younger than him. A sense of protective responsibility that had grown into an overly cautious anxiety. A desperate need to ensure everyone’s safety, as if it fell on him alone. His eyes snapped up when he heard her say his name.

“We’ll be just fine, Nanamin,” She said soothingly with her grin lingering on her lips. “You should have seen Haibara in training yesterday. He’s got us covered.”

Her words were punctuated by Haibara’s exaggerated flexing and her loud, echoing laugh. 

**********************

June 2011

Yokohama

Some people die sensationally. Stuck chin-deep in a grave of their own making, shot between the eyes on their victory tour through the country, or strung up in public for believing in something unpopular yet just. Others die peacefully. Surrounded by family or by nature or by nothing, whichever they prefer. These deaths have meaning. These deaths have something to say.

There is nothing to say about a 14-year-old girl ripped to pieces at 2:30 PM on a Wednesday while she unwrapped her peanut butter sandwich. Other than to wonder how in the hell it even happened.

Finally, having gotten the all clear to take Jun on a 2nd-grade case just outside Yokohama, Y/N had quickly gone to her student’s dorm with a wide smile and a personally packed lunch—they were set to leave right away.

When they’d arrived at the last known location of their missing person, Y/N found a man sobbing on a bench next to a coffee vending machine. She instructed Jun to sit on a bench half-way down the block and eat her lunch. She knew she was going to use this woman’s threads, and hoped going into the conversation alone might allow the grieving man to trust her more easily, or at least to retain some of his dignity.

Two minutes into the conversation, she heard a low rumbling behind her back, and she turned around to see a brown cursed spirit, a piece of her young, hopeful student in each of its eight arms and hands. Y/N’s hands trembled as she desperately reached for the strand of connection between herself and her student, finding it replaced with eight thin, silver threads, each leading to a different bit of carnage carried by the monster in front of her. The man’s sobs had turned to desperate screaming, and her shock twisted into a rage that burned beneath her skin.

Within seconds, she’d used the surrounding threads to slice the brown cursed spirit into eight pieces itself. She might have called it poetic justice if she’d been able to call anything just anymore. Y/N fell to her knees beside the pieces of her student, gripping at the 8 strings slowly fading to gray, in such a state of shock that she didn’t hear the man behind her calling out to her before her dizziness overtook her, and everything faded to black. 

**********************

May 27, 2011

JUJU STROLL!

Y/N’s roommates respected that she kept to herself. Sure, it was a bit strange how rarely she had food in the fridge and how she would sometimes go missing for days at a time, but they tried not to pry. 

So, when the three girls came home, kicking off their shoes and discussing the film they’d just seen, they weren’t surprised to find her door closed. However, when they heard a male voice coming from her bedroom, they couldn’t help but press their ears to the door. 

“You’re freaking me out, put the blindfold back on! ”  

Their eyes widened as they heard Y/N through the door and the man’s subsequent laughter. The three of them looked at each other, jaws open. One of them laughed, clasping a hand over her mouth as the other two pulled her into the furthest of their bedrooms to gossip about what they’d heard. They didn’t think Y/N did freaky shit like that. 

Gojo left around midday the following day, putting on his shades and barely trying to time his messy white hair. He grinned at Y/N’s roommates as they ogled him from the kitchen table, their jaws dropping yet again. 

As he walked past, he tucked his hands in his pockets and drawled, “ Ladies… ”

Chapter Text

June 2011

Utsunomiya, Japan

Jun’s parents hosted the wake in their home in Utsunomiya. Gojo offered to drive Y/N over, which she graciously accepted—crying on public transit wasn’t high on her list of goals for the day. Number one on said list was getting through the wake without falling apart completely. 

They parked about a block down the street, and, as they walked up, she caught a glimpse of her strings with Jun, thin and silver, reflective like fishing wire, and choked down tears. Throat closed up, straining the muscle to keep her breathing even and her eyes dry, she let go of the strings, let them fade into the void of invisibility that only she had access to. She knew she shouldn’t have looked at them, regretting her choice to will the threads into view, but it felt disrespectful to avoid thinking about Jun. To let her spirit fade with the memories. Unlike the threads, Y/N couldn’t willingly forget. She couldn’t switch something in her mind that lets her stop pouring energy into the thought that makes it real. She couldn’t wind the memories around her fingers or let them fall into the air on command.

All Y/N could think of was Jun’s parents and how awful all of this must be for them. Their daughter was torn to pieces on the street while under Y/N’s care. She remembered the faces of the Haibara family, forever burned into her memory, and the guilt came rushing back to her. Funny how you can never forget the things you want while the good memories fade into a haze. A smoke rising off the surface of the river at dawn, dissipating by early morning.

The house was modest, its furniture showing its wear from years of use. Not to the point of dilapidation, but there were a few scuffs across the floor from the legs of the chairs, and the couch stains looked like they’d been scrubbed continuously to no avail. Traces of Jun were scattered about: a trophy on the bookshelf, a photo by the entrance, and shoes by the door that Y/N remembered peeking out from under the school desks.

Y/N, stomach churning with guilt, felt as if there was a sniper aimed at her forehead for the entire funeral. She desperately hoped to avoid speaking to Jun’s parents, hiding around a corner every time they were near to delay the inevitable. She trailed behind Gojo as he mingled with various people, friends and strangers alike, politely contributing to the conversation when prompted, but otherwise remaining silent. As if that would keep attention off of her. Y/N knew nobody was looking at her in particular, but she couldn’t help feeling like they all knew that she was the reason they were gathered, a somber mass of black and glinting tears. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone to a funeral with guilt exceeding her already intense amount of grief. 

Y/N had spent the day after Jun’s death comatose in her room, replaying the moment she turned around over and over until she wasn’t sure if she had made it up. In her inescapable playback of the moment, flashes of Haibara randomly struck her vision—another time she’d turned around to find a dead body behind her. It wasn’t the first time Y/N’s optimistic (or overeager, as Yaga would call it) attitude led to disaster. She shouldn’t have told Jun to sit on the bench; she shouldn’t have left her alone. Fuck, she shouldn’t have brought her on that mission in the first place. 

The fact that it happened twice hurt even more. 

Gojo was looking at her as if he’d just called her name. Maybe he had.

“Did you say something?” she asked, to which Gojo frowned.

“Yeah, do you need anything? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

She shook her head slightly, dazed, finding it hard to stay grounded when all she could do was convince herself over and over in her head that the room wasn’t conspiring against her. They didn’t invite her to shame her for what happened. Most of the people filling the living room didn’t even know who she was.

“I’m fine,” Y/N said, as convincingly as possible.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t eat much this morning.” It wasn’t a lie. She got ready that morning, draping black fabric around herself and staring so deeply into the mirror, she forgot that she was looking at herself. Her hands shook as she blended concealer over the scar on her eye, knowing her usual colorful pigment was inappropriate. Her stomach couldn’t handle much more than coffee that tasted too sweet and a few bites of the onigiri her roommates had silently left for her the night before. 

Gojo didn’t push; instead, nodding and motioning his head towards Jun’s parents. “We should speak to them before we go.” 

The idea of talking to them made Y/N’s chest tighten with panic, but she knew she couldn’t hide any longer.

“Okay.”

Gojo gently pushed through the bodies shifting around the house, Y/N close in tow.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Kowakuma,” he said, bowing.

“Gojo-sensei. Thank you for coming,” Jun’s mother said.

“Of course.”

“You must be her teacher,” Jun’s father said, smiling sadly at Y/N as she nodded. His gaze made her uncomfortable. Could he see through her—to the guilt crawling up her throat, making her feel like she was going to vomit?

“I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances,” he said. Y/N and Gojo didn’t respond, instead nodding gently. She tried to control her panic, a task made difficult by her inability to direct the flow of her thoughts to a calmer headspace. 

My fault.

Maybe Jun’s parents were being nice because they were grieving. Or maybe they were so distraught with the unexpected death of their child that they didn’t even know to be angry with her yet.

She swore to herself years ago that she wouldn’t be the reason she lost another loved one. It took so long to find a community that when Y/N finally did, she vowed that she would do anything to keep it together. But here she was, again. When Haibara died, breathing his last breath just a foot behind her, Nanami became so overcome by grief and anger that their relationship never recovered. 

She wondered who would leave her grieving alone this time. At a wake for the first student she went out of her way to connect with. Y/N would’ve known if she was cursed, so she discarded the possibility of that as an explanation quickly. But she wondered why it was always her. The one fucking up. And others had to pay the price for her mistakes. She could mope and sulk all she wanted, but at the end of the day, she had no one to blame but herself.

My fault.

Y/N didn’t remember exchanging goodbyes with Jun’s family or Gojo putting a hand to the spot between her shoulders to usher her to the door, starting down the sidewalk towards Gojo’s car.

“Are you sure you’re—” 

“Why did they invite me?” Y/N interrupted.

Gojo lowered his sunglasses to look over the rims at her. “Why do you ask that?”

Y/N shrugged, zoning out her vision as she passed each crack in the sidewalk. “I’m just her teacher.”

Gojo stopped and grabbed Y/N’s arm, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He was uncharacteristically serious, not trying to rebound with humor or a sly comment to cover up the feelings simmering deep down.

“If I’ve learned anything from this job, it’s that you’re never just a teacher.”

“But what if I-”

“And if you were ‘just a teacher’ to Jun, you weren’t doing your job right.”

Y/N breathed deeply, hoping it would stop the tears that slid silently down her cheeks, carving paths through the thin layer of foundation she’d blotted on that morning.

“We both took this job to raise capable sorcerers. Who think and do what is right, not what’s easy.”

“Look where that got us.” Y/N didn’t know why she said it. She wasn’t trying to be biting, but she was so frustrated with herself. No one would have to feel this way if she had done her job. If she had paid more attention. She let her head dip in shame, letting her tears fall, unrestrained. Gojo was unbothered by her comment. He held her hands, rubbing at her knuckles with his thumb, the pressure of his thumb oddly soothing.

“You respected her as a person in a job where we’re slaughtered like animals. Don’t feel guilty about that.”

Y/N nodded somberly. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted. While she understood his point, it didn’t do much to soothe the unease in her stomach.

“I’m always right,” Gojo said, cracking a soft smile to encourage Y/N to do the same. She linked her arm with his and continued their walk to the car, side by side.

“What do you want to eat? I’m paying.”

********************

July 2011

Somewhere in Mizuho

Days passed. Y/N went to work. She sipped her coffee in the mornings, taught whoever wasn’t on a mission, had lunch with her coworkers, and went home, mindlessly slumped on the couch in front of the same reruns. Just like she always did.

There wasn’t anything else to do.

She felt just like she did when she was 16. After all of these years, she thought she’d grown out of her grief, like an old sweater. And maybe she had. As the years passed and time marched on, she got to a point where her sadness had dissolved from a scream from the void into a whisper in her ear.

The memory of Jun, or rather what was left of her, spliced through her days like a needle peeking through fabric as it pierced it. Each memory felt like a stitch, lining that same old sweater, closing in the sides, and shortening the sleeves.

As she lifted the coffee pot in her kitchen, too tired to find a mug that was hers from the back of the cupboard, she’d catch the glint of light off the handle nestled in her hand, and it looked oddly like Jun’s strings as she wove her shaking fingers through them. A stitch. 

When she passed a bakery, its doors open to entice passersby, the wafting scent of fresh sourdough had a tang to it that started to smell like the blood that stained Y/N’s jeans as she knelt next to the pieces of her student, watching crimson reflect the sunlight like glitter as it pooled on the concrete. A stitch.

Waiting for the afternoon train to take her home, the whistle of other trains flying through the station echoed in her ear like Jun’s scream, ringing for the few seconds it took until all Y/N could hear was the wind. A stitch.

Y/N could block it out. If she didn’t mourn Jun, it would be a disrespect worse than the failure that caused her death. So she wore her grief, letting it consume her. The sweater fit again, too baggy around certain parts of her, too tight in others. It made her itch inside, the warmth of it like the swell of a wave cresting right before it all crashed down, or rather, right after, as the sea foam bubbles and fizzles across the surface. And no matter how uncomfortable it was, how hard Y/N tried to throw it away, she couldn’t let herself give it up. It was warm. And familiar.

Gojo noticed how hard the loss had hit Y/N. How she moped about campus, straightening up and plastering on a gentle smile when students passed and faking enthusiasm as she taught. There wasn’t much she looked forward to, so Gojo decided it was time for her to get something she’d been asking for since they became friends.

Y/N knew that Gojo was in charge of Megumi and Tsumiki, and since the two had bonded, she’d heard him mention now and then that he was busy with them or spending the night where they were staying. It was sweet to hear that he was helping take care of them, even though their situation was anything but sweet. After Y/N’s depressive episode following Jun’s death, Gojo thought that this could cheer her up. Children were such a joy. They’re more straightforward to talk to, to fit in with, and Y/N had loved being around them since she started high school. 

“How often do you visit them?”Y/N asked from the passenger seat, her mirror down so she could inspect her lip gloss, giving her something to do rather than fidget with nerves.

“Once a week at least. I swing by after work and spend the night when I can.”

“That’s nice of you,” Y/N said, watching the suburbs pass by her window. People with bags of groceries, high schoolers clutching snacks as they walked out of the konbini, families on a stroll. It was a nice reminder that life could be beautiful, no matter how untrue it felt.

“You don’t talk about them much,” she commented, not with any particular judgement, but with a curiosity as to the reason why.

“I don’t need anyone from the school meddling any more than they already have.”

Y/N nodded solemnly, fighting the urge to recheck her makeup again, as if it would matter if one of the kids noticed that her lip gloss had stained one corner of her mouth or that her mascara had smudged under her eyes.

“Besides, if the wrong person found out I was taking care of them, they could be in serious danger.”

Y/N was surprised to see Gojo nervous, or at least not as in control as he usually was. It wasn’t often that the strongest showed his humanity. When he did, it was a bad omen, a sign to other sorcerers that shit was about to hit the fan and they should be nervous too. And if the strongest was unnerved by the threat, no one should expect to fare well. What really confused Y/N was why he was so anxious about the kids. After all, Gojo had been a teacher for long enough that he knew how to manage kids and teenagers, but it seemed like something Y/N shouldn’t push.

“Should I feel bad that I killed Megumi’s dad?” Gojo asked over the quiet music of the radio.

There it was.

The car felt oddly silent after that. While they were past the point of awkwardness with each other, neither had brought up that day since it happened. It was mutually understood that it wasn’t something to discuss. Not only was Gojo killed, but Geto was sliced up, the school was mostly destroyed, and Riko Amanai was dead. Only to be replaced immediately after. The nightmares that everyone involved had after had been all for naught. A new star plasma vessel had been found and brought to Tengen, but the blood had already been shed.

Geto wasn’t the same after it. No one was, but he was especially rocked by it, to the point that, as disappointing as it was, no one was entirely surprised by his sudden shift in dogma. But not everything had been destroyed. Because of his near-death experience, Gojo had only gotten stronger, setting a new bar for sorcerers everywhere. It inspired underclassmen to work harder, not to keep up, but not to fall entirely behind.

And Gojo found Megumi.

“Fuck, no!” Y/N said with so much fire behind it that Gojo flinched. “He was an asshole, and he killed your ass.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“And I’m pretty sure Megumi will be a more normal person with you as a caretaker than that freak.”

Gojo’s long fingers tapped at the steering wheel, his eyes flitting from side to side across the road as they approached a worn-down apartment building. Y/N could see the insecurity processing behind them, a crack in his self-assured demeanor. “I guess you’re right.”

“Megumi’s lucky to have you,” Y/N said quietly after a pause, keeping her eyes locked on the side of Gojo’s face. He gave a polite smile, the one white people use when you make eye contact with someone on the street.

“Satoru,” she said. The car stopped at a light. Gojo finally looked over at Y/N, and she paused to make sure he was paying attention. “I would’ve been glad to have you.”

He gave a sincere smile and chuckled as the car engine purred and the car started gliding through the streets once again. “You do now, bitch.”

They stepped up to a shoddy door with rusted hinges and chipping paint, the potted plants at the foot on their way out of this life and onto the next. Though the neighborhood was busy, the apartment complex was secluded enough that the street was tranquil enough to look almost abandoned. Goko flipped through his keys as they approached and unlocked the door. 

“You ready?” he asked, grinning. Y/N clutched her bag and took a deep breath. While she wasn’t the one taking care of them, she really wanted the kids to like her. She remembered hearing from the other side of the cafeteria table that Gojo had taken them into his care by promising Megumi’s enrollment in the school in exchange for financial support. 

All they gave was a few thousand yen and a 17-year-old who couldn’t formally adopt them. Having only a sibling to come home to, and the closest thing to a parent being Gojo, who can only stay over every few nights, with the “light at the end of the tunnel” being servitude to the sorcery machine. 

Growing up with Megumi’s situation wasn’t something she could relate to entirely, but she could empathize with it. While Y/N’s story wasn’t as drastic as Megumi’s, she’d also take Gojo as a parent over being sold off to the Zenin clan.

“Fuck it. Let’s go.” She said as Gojo opened the door. 

“Tsumiki! Megumi! I’m back.” Gojo called out down the short hallway off to the side. The apartment was characteristically small with a mini kitchen facing a used couch that looked oddly similar to Y/N’s that her roommates bought for a suspiciously low price. As Y/N followed Gojo in, untying her shoes and slipping them off at the entrance, Tsumiki appeared, her arms outstretched, waiting for Gojo to bend down enough to hug her. Her hair was woven into a clean braid, still in her school uniform from the day, just as straightened and neat as her hair. A minute later, Megumi lurked behind Tsumiki, slouching with a somber expression that was uncharacteristic for an 8-year-old. “There you are,” Gojo said, ruffling Megumi’s hair. He looked annoyed, but didn’t push Gojo’s hand away.

“Who’s this?” he asked, looking directly at where Y/N waited at the door.

Jesus.

“Megumi, that’s not polite,” Tsumiki whispered loudly, elbowing into his arm.

“That’s alright,” Y/N said, her hands clasped around the handles of her tote in front of her, as if it would shield her from Megumi’s judgmental attitude. She wanted them to like her so badly. It was apparent how much they mattered to Gojo outside of him legally being in charge of them. “I’m Satoru’s friend from work. He’s told me a lot about you two.”

Tsumiki smiled, her hands clasped behind her back, and Megumi shot a bored look towards Gojo as if to say, ‘Really? We’re doing this?’

 He shot back a warning look as Y/N tried not to take the attitude personally. Rather than chiding him, Satoru raised his eyebrows and squatted so he was at eye level, his elbows resting against his knees with his hands clasped together in the middle.

“Have you guys finished your homework?”

“I’m working on it right now,” Tsumiki said. “I’m going to finish it before dinner.” 

“You do that,” Gojo said, and Tsumiki waved at Y/N kindly and walked down the hallway towards what Y/N supposed was a bedroom. Gojo turned towards Y/N as well. “Do you want to set your stuff down over there?” 

Y/N nodded and moved around the two, not unaware of the challenging glances between them. As she stood behind the kitchen table, she looked back over at Gojo and Megumi, neither of them noticing her attention. Megumi looked sheepishly aside. For a second, he looked like a normal kid, tilting his head into his shoulder as he looked over at the window, his eyes letting go of focus. Not the angry, moody mini adult he had to act like, but Gojo’s gaze didn’t falter. 

“How are you doing?” Gojo asked quietly, still in his squat, almost a catcher’s stance, but his tone was so much softer than Y/N expected as she moved things around her purse to pretend she didn’t bear witness to the gentle moment. Megumi shifted slightly from side to side on his heels, looking aside, clearly uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving. Patiently, Gojo waited, watching as the kid’s shoulders shrugged. He poked at Megumi’s belly gently over his t-shirt, saying, “I know you did something cool at school today,” earning a smile that Gojo gladly reciprocated.

“School was good.”

“Just good?” Gojo asked as if it were a joke, but it made Megumi stop swaying and finally look at him. 

“I just missed you.”

Satoru nodded and opened his arms up, letting Megumi step into his embrace and tuck his face into Gojo’s work shirt. It was such a sweet moment that she couldn’t help but feel like she was intruding. She also, in that moment, realized just how important her friend really was to these kids. They brought out a gentleness from Gojo that he’d never let onto before. While he was quick to take care of Y/N or one of his students, this love was something else, something deeper that there wasn’t a name for.

Y/N let the strings glow steadily in the yellowed light of golden hour, seeping in through the windows. Her string with Gojo, a champagne of shades of pink and gold, glittered in the light, but it was nothing compared to the intensity of his connection with the kids. Amongst all of the strings pouring from Gojo, a wash of greys making the pastels look like tinted silver. Like light off a ring. It made the gold of the string that tied him to Megumi stand out all the more.

“Do you need help with your homework?”

“No, I just have to check over it.”

“Do you want to help me make dinner then?”

Y/N turned away at last, actually pulling from her bag what she’d set out to do when she walked away. She held the gift behind her back and watched the two boys make their way over to her in the kitchen.

“Megumi, I actually have a gift for you.”

He didn’t seem particularly excited, even when she handed him the small stuffed bear she’d gotten as a bribe for him to like her. She thought she’d need one from what she’d heard of him, the few times Gojo talked about him. Especially now, she knew how important he was to the only friend she had and why Y/N wished she’d brought something better.

Megumi took the bear gingerly, looking over it as he turned it in his hands.

“What am I, two?”

Horrified, Y/N blinked slowly, frozen in shock and unable to come up with a reasonable response that didn’t involve her bullying an 8-year-old. It didn’t matter because Gojo bent over cackling beside them both. Some parenting.

She opened her mouth to finally get a response out. “I don’t know, I thought-”

“Thank you,” Megumi said, walking off to his room without another word.

“Wash your hands and come back to help,” Gojo called after him. He grinned stupidly at Y/N, still deeply amused by her flustered state and victimization by his emo kid.

“Satoru, what the fuck? That was awful,” she whispered to him.

“I don’t know, I think that went well.”

“Your kid is a freak.”

“And he dragged you through the mud. I expected a better comeback from you.”

Y/N flicked him then pushed her hair back. “Shut up.”

Tsumiki returned to the small space, quickly followed by Megumi, who made his way to where a small step stool stood in front of the sink to wash his hands. Y/N joined them, standing hesitantly at the edge of the kitchen, waiting until she was needed: she learned that from living two doors down from Nanami.

Nanami.

What was he doing right now? Was he cooking dinner too? Sliding around the kitchen between cabinets and the stove, sprinkling things in as he deemed fit, listening to the sizzle of the pan over the passing of cars blazing by outside like wind. He could be alone, like he liked when he cooked, or maybe he had people over and they were chatting politely with each other, painfully formally, a stark contrast to the comments thrown around Gojo’s kitchen. There wasn’t much, but there was so much love, it didn’t let the silence settle into the cracks.

Nanami’s kitchen must be dreadfully expensive, filled with appliances that don’t smell like the ghost of every burnt dish, glistening plates without scratches and chips around the bottoms and edges that make it wobble when it’s set down, shiny new knives without the chance to get blunt and press the vegetables into the counter rather than cutting through them. Nanami’s life couldn’t look like this. Could it? Maybe if he had stayed. Stayed or left with her. She was sure that he had better knife skills than she was seeing from Gojo, his movements clumsy and distracted, where Nanami’s would’ve been controlled and precise. And he definitely knew what herb to add to the broth to fix its excessive tang rather than try Gojo’s method of pulling every spice from the cabinet and shuffling them around the counter indecisively. And Nanami definitely had a fridge that he pulled open with one arm, maybe it even dispensed ice, and he wasn’t spending precious cooking time pulling with his full weight at the handle.

“Satoru…” Y/N said, finally settling back into reality and processing what she had been passively intaking/watching. He tugged harder, but the fridge didn’t budge.

“Stupid thing never opens for me.”

Tsumiki wiped her hands on a towel and shoved Gojo aside by his hips. She grabbed the handle and set the other against the side of the fridge, and the door swung open with ease.

“You have to get it just right.”

In an instant, Tsumiki looked over at Y/N, and she stilled. It was another one of those moments, the one that just… cuts through. Like the way for a split second, as if instead, it was Haibara standing in front of her.

****************** 

April 2006

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

“You know, before I met you, I thought Americans were weird. Now I know for certain.” 

The vending machine hummed impatiently as Y/N’s hand hovered over E4, waiting for the command to drop the strawberry Ramune she had fed her last 100 yen coin to it for.

“Excuse me?” Y/N turned her head towards the voice, confused and a bit offended on behalf of her countrymen. She was still learning to discern whose voice belonged to whom, but was quite certain the comment had come from—Haneda? Hamada? When her gaze locked on rich, brown, bright eyes, it clicked. Oh, Haibara! That was his name. 

“Not in a bad way–” 

“How the hell is that not supposed to be bad?” Her eye twitched. Haibara was supposed to be the nice one. She expected the blonde one to be bitchy, and she knew the upperclassmen were rude, but Haibara was all smiley during the first week. Was everyone at this freak school destined to make her feel like shit? She rifled through the decisions that led to her attending a magic school on the other side of the world, where, apparently, everyone hated her. She jabbed E4 with more force than necessary.

“I mean that if you were normal, you wouldn’t have come all this way just to be a sorcerer. You have to be a little… off like the rest of us to sign up for this.” 

“I didn’t come here just to be a sorcerer,” Y/N muttered. He clearly didn’t mean anything about it, but her words were slightly bitter at the notion that she’d still managed to be assigned the weird label at the freak convention. “I was doing an exchange program when Yaga found me. It just sounded nice to be somewhere that I might finally belong.”

The rattle of the glass bottle dropping into the collection tube filled the silence. Y/N and Haibara watched the plastic door slowly open and get stuck before there was enough space for her to reach in and grab her drink. 

“This stupid fucking machine. ‘Japan is living in the future, ’ my ass,” she pried at the door to no avail, embarrassed at the audience’s front-row seat to her struggle. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Here,” Haibara’s pointer and middle finger glowed blue with cursed energy and, in one, seemingly easy tug, opened the door the rest of the way. He handed the drink to her with a smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. You’re really cool for entering this world all on your own. I hope that we can be friends.” 

Y/N looked down at the proffered drink and felt her chest get warm. 

“Me too.”

As she reached out to take the drink, her eyes caught on the small bracelet around Haibara’s wrist. The dainty gold chain looped around his wrist, securing a rectangular green gem fast to his skin. He noticed her staring and lifted the bracelet higher for her to see.

“Pretty cool, right? My mom got it for me in Taiwan—authentic jade. I want to get a matching necklace, but there’s only that one store, and they don’t ship. I think once I become a Grade 1 sorcerer, I’m going to go and get it myself. Hey, we should go together!” 

Y/N was captivated by the depth of color in the pendant. It was beautiful.  “Yeah, we should. It’s a plan,” she stuck out her hand again for them to shake on it. 

Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

*********************

December 9, 2011

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

It seemed that summer had turned to winter far too quickly that year, and the months between Jun’s funeral and the end of the year whipped past Y/N before she could make anything of them. She was tired. Gojo was constantly on missions. In her lowest moments, usually deep in the night, she found herself unable to get the images of Jun, her dead student, and Haibara, her dead classmate, out of her head, the images overlapping one another. 

She was becoming afraid to connect with her students, lest they die too and break her heart another thousand times over. However, in missions she’d brought students on, it was easier to save them when the threads between them and herself were thicker, which meant she had to connect with them to more easily prevent something like the incident that killed Jun. She was conflicted, and her technique was unprecedented: there was no clear answer to her question. It haunted her thoughts as she played mindlessly with the lighter she kept in her purse between classes, impatient for the end of the day when she could smoke her worries away.

This is why she was relieved to be sent on a solo mission in mid-December, even if she’d planned to go home early that day. At least I don’t have to face the anxiety of having one of my students with me. 

“This is…” Yaga spoke seriously across from her as he assigned her the mission. “A tough one, Y/N. Should you perform well, I imagine you’ll finally get that first grade promotion.”

She sat up straighter at that. It had been over a year since she’d been recommended. One year of being semi-first grade with no end in sight. Promotion could save her, or at least the pay raise would. “Tell me more.”

“You remember Ryomen Sukuna from history class, I assume.”

Her eyes widened. “The famously dead King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna? 

“Yes—still dead, thankfully,” Yaga nodded, “The higher-ups have suddenly expressed interest in specific investigations aimed at finding more of his twenty fingers.”

“Right…” She spoke slowly, thinking. “We only have one, and it kind of just fell into our laps after excorising a curse a few years ago, yeah?”

The principal nodded again, a strange expression of worry on his face. “They want to know if there are threads between them.” 

She automatically shook her head. “Curses have threads like humans, but cursed objects… they might connect with a person or curse, but not to each other.”

“They want you to double-check.”

Ten minutes later, Y/N was being led around the endless buildings Tengen had created to hide their one-and-only Sukuna finger by Ijichi, who, as usual, seemed deeply nervous. His footsteps were uneven and quick, as if he were running from something. 

“Ijichi, the finger’s not going to bite you,” She laughed, following him into another hallway. 

“It attracts curses.” His voice shook.

“Not on this campus.”

“Y/N, you weren’t there when they were trying to destroy them. It was like a carpet bombing.” He said, toying with the collar of his shirt as they arrived at the door of the room where the special-grade cursed object was kept. 

She placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder, missing the slight flush that tinted his cheeks. “Well, I’m just here to ask about its feelings…”

He forced a laugh, which came out sounding more like a groan, as he opened the door. The atmosphere in the room was, to his credit, extremely unnerving, and she felt it as soon as she took her first step in. In the center was a small box, which held the finger, wrapped in some sort of bandages. 

As she’d expected, there were no threads of note. Still, she felt each of them, ensuring they connected to humans or sorcerers and not other curses or cursed objects. This, too, came up with absolutely nothing. When she relayed this information to Ijichi, he frowned even deeper. 

“...what?” She asked, fearing his reply. 

“Yaga said that if there are no threads, we have to take the finger with us to this case in Asakusa.”

She looked at him from where she was crouched next to the finger. “What? We’ll just attract more curses. What would we even do with it?”

He shuddered. “Nothing, probably. The thought is that, should we run into a curse that ate another finger, there might be a thread connecting to that curse from the finger, and we could collect the fingers that way.”

“That’s a lot of variables.” 

“It is.”

“You shouldn’t come with me, then,” she said, picking up the box with the finger, putting it in her bag. 

Ijichi looked at her in shock. “You’re agreeing to that plan?”

“Yaga says it could mean a promotion.”

“Not if you’re dead!”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, finding her resolve and walking out of the room.

Ijichi scrambled to follow after her. “I think you might wait until Gojo Satoru is back—”

“I don’t need him,” she quipped, perhaps too harshly, her heeled boots clicking on the wooden floors as she retraced her steps out of the depths of the school, stopping at the vending machines for a coffee before she left. 

*********************

May 2006

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

All things considered, Y/N’s Japanese wasn’t that bad. She’d only been in Japan for a little over a year, and she didn’t have to wrack her brain to remember how to ask for directions anymore. One time, she almost shat herself in the middle of Kyoto because she kept asking, “Why is the bathroom?”, which encouraged her to figure out what she was doing very quickly. A month ago, she’d even helped translate for a British family and their taxi driver. That being said, thanking the cashier at the corner store was very different from studying the intricacies of cursed technique inheritance theory from textbooks that may as well have been written when dinosaurs still roamed the Earth. 

The warm spring wind gently flipped the pages of the textbook she’d splayed across her favorite picnic table. She thought the change of scenery from her room—still gradually filling with decorations, but feeling nothing like what she could call home—would make it easier to focus. She was wrong. The longer she stared at the characters in front of her, the less they all made sense together. She’d mistaken ‘death’ for ‘flower’ at least 4 times and couldn’t figure out what the fuck ‘imbue’ meant. 

This exam was going to eat her alive. Y/N could see it now. Yaga would place the exam packet on her desk, right after giving one to Nanami and before Haibara. He’d say with a deep, gravely voice that they had 50 minutes to answer and anyone who cheated would be immediately expelled and shunned. Nanami would get right to it, not even bothering to wait for Yaga’s speech to end. He’d be halfway done with the first page by the time she’d felt reassured enough to write her name and the date in the right spot. Haibara would turn to her and flash her a small smile before flipping thoughtfully through the pages. She would look at the page before her and realize suddenly that she no longer understood any Japanese and, instead of bringing a pen, her stationery case was full of colorful, fuzzy pipe-cleaners. 

She could always drop out. Return to her previous host family and tell them the private religious thing wasn’t for her. She could try calling her parents again; maybe it would go through this time. Anything but admitting to Yaga or her classmates that she needed help. Y/N would sooner run to Kabukichō and work as a prostitute. It wasn’t really a bad idea…

Violently, she shook her head, hoping to banish thoughts of desertion from her mind. Y/N wasn’t a quitter.

“Were you raised by dogs?” 

She didn’t need to turn around to know that the unintentionally rude question came straight from Haibara’s mouth. 

“Do you start conversations normally? Or did you take it seriously when your 3rd-grade teacher said good stories start with attention grabbers?” She snipped back at him; the malice behind it was unintentional, but she knew he didn’t mind. The deep grin etched into his cheeks remained bright despite her misplaced frustration. Haibara reminded her of the ducks that swam laps around the fountain in the courtyard. Her words, no matter how callous—the water, no matter how disgusting (because Tengen knows nobody cleans the fountain)— rolled right off his back. 

“My creative writing pieces typically start with ‘it was a dark and stormy night,’ which, if I didn’t know better, I’d say today was, since you looked so distressed. And you know who else hates dark and stormy nights? Dogs,” he chuckled and sat down opposite Y/N, moving her books around the table to make space for his belongings. 

She groaned into her hands and sank into the picnic table. “I wasn’t raised by dogs, Haibara. I’m just trying to clear my head… recalibrate, you know?”

“That’s a big word for you– ow!” Y/N stuck out her tongue at Haibara, who theatrically soothed the spot where her eraser made contact with his head. Serves him right.

For a moment or two, they sat in silence. The birds danced in circles over their heads, and the cicadas sang to one another from behind the leaves of the campus’s lush foliage. Jujutsu Tech would be her favorite place in the world if it weren’t currently the source of her every waking nightmare. A snort cut through her admiration of the world around her, and she looked down from the sky to see Haibara peeking at her notes. Heat flushed from her chest up to her nose and down to her stomach, where it burned a pit of embarrassment straight through her. 

Y/N lunged to grab the notebook from his hands, but missed him by a hair. “What are you doing? Give that back, asshole!” Haibara stood on the bench seat and lifted her notes higher above his head. 

“I didn’t take you for the studious type. There are more words on this page than in the textbook!” he exclaimed, almost in awe, still dodging her attempts at retrieving her property from his thieving hands. “You know you don’t have to read this so closely, right? You’re kinda wasting your time annotating it word for word—just skim.”

It must have been the feeling of impending doom climbing up from the soles of her feet, the buzzing of the bees in her ears, the intense craving for a Baja Blast that she couldn’t satiate, something, anything—but Y/N broke. 

“I can’t ‘just skim’, Haibara! Do you think I want to sit here and dissect every sentence word-for-word? If I could ‘just skim’, I wouldn’t have been sitting here for the last 3 hours, pulling my hair out and flipping through the dictionary because I don’t trust that I understand what’s in front of me! Do you know how it feels? How tiring it is? How fucking stupid I feel?” 

It may have felt more cathartic, more movie-like, if they’d been in a food court at the mall or the first floor of a busy library, and everyone stopped their conversations to stare and listen to her pour out her frustrations. But this wasn’t Hollywood, and the world wasn’t going to stop to acknowledge her struggles. It kept turning, the birds kept chirping, the mii-mii of the cicadas wouldn’t let up. 

Haibara stopped, though. 

The smile on his face fell, and so did the hand holding Y/N’s notes. He didn’t know her super well yet–it was only a month into the school year—but the only girl in their graduating class had proven herself deserving of her place in the program. She was smarter than she believed herself to be, impulsive and abrasive on occasion, and kind of weird, but someone he was determined to have as a friend. Watching the torrent of emotion move across her face made it glaringly obvious that he was fucking that up. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize–”

“Of course you didn’t,” Y/N snapped as she started packing up her books, pens, waterbottle, and, with an abrupt snatch, her notebook into her bag. Before Haibara could speak again, she was already halfway to her dorm room. 

She did feel bad, unleashing her frustrations on Haibara like that. Y/N knew that he was just trying to be helpful, and there’s no way he knew what she was going through, but she was just so frustrated, she couldn’t help it. She’d apologize to him eventually. Once she cleared her head and re-evaluated whether she wanted to stay, she would.

The guilt mixed with the anxiety kept her up all night. She paced the length of her room between chapters, recited the Jujutsu Hippocratic Oath while folding her laundry, and watched her tears cause ink to bleed across words. It felt like she was getting nowhere. She was mildly convinced the words were swimming off the page, into her brain, and out of her ears. Just 2 more pages, and she could sleep. 3 days until the exam, then she could decide if she was dropping out for good.

It was nearly 5:30 am when she heard the sound of something sliding under her door. Y/N thought she was hallucinating it at first, but as she rose from her desk and picked up the unexpected delivery, she saw clearly the stack of notecards, a folder labeled “Cheat Sheet!!” in Japanese and English, and an envelope sealed with Doraemon washi tape. 

She flipped through the notecards, examining the carefully written kanji characters with definitions and examples written in English next to them. The spelling mistakes and illustrations pulled a wet laugh from her. The folder had simplified notes of the entire unit and all of the kanji written out again. Finally, she turned her attention to the envelope.

Y/N gently pulled up the ends of the tape, not wanting to rip it.

Hi Y/N,

Sorry for picking on you earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It was unfair of me to assume I knew how you feel. I meant what I said a few weeks ago—I really do think you’re cool; for jumping headfirst into jujutsu society, for moving to the other side of the world, for mixing patterns in your outfits even when it doesn’t look good. You make this school and the jujutsu world less lonely. Let’s really be friends. We can spar together and go watch movies if you want. I think there’s a craft store not far from campus that you would really like.

I don’t know if you prefer to study alone, but if you do, I hope these notes help. You work harder than anyone else here, so I want it to pay off. I want to become a Grade 1 sorcerer one day, and I want you and Nanami to do it with me, so please don’t leave. Don’t forget, we have to go to Taipei!

-Yuu :)

*********************

December 9, 2011

Asakusa

Sukuna’s finger began attracting curses the second she left campus. There were a few extra flyheads on the train, then two level 3 curses at the station, and then a level two on the block just next to the one she’d been sent to. She was tired before she even arrived at her assigned location, where she was met with a giant first-grade curse that nearly took up the entire alley. When she looked down at her purse, she saw a thick, coiled, cursed thread that led straight from the finger to the curse in front of her. 

Ijichi was right. This mission was going to kill her. 

And, before she could even summon the rest of her threads into her vision, the curse charged at her, taking what felt like a chunk of flesh from the side of her abdomen. Her hand came to her heart, her chest heaving so much that she wondered if it’d taken one of her lungs. In an attempt to take a step backward, she twisted her ankle and stumbled to the ground. The curse, concluding that it had done her in, redirected its attention to the building to its left. 

Once, when she was 13 and plagued by the kind of unfounded depression that permeates the early teen experience in ways she looks back on and cringes over, Y/N lay staring at her ceiling and wondered how she was going to die. The idea of growing old and passing in her sleep was discomforting for reasons she couldn’t explain. Maybe the mozzarella sticks from her school’s cafeteria would catch up to her, and she’d have a heart attack. Maybe when she started driving lessons the next year, she’d turn into oncoming traffic and kill herself and her driving instructor. For nearly an hour, she came up with more and more ridiculous Final Destination-esque scenarios in which she could die. Death itself was so incomprehensible that the outlandish, violent terminations of livelihood she imagined were nothing more than unnerving thoughts that sent shivers down her spine. She couldn’t really imagine having a violent death, so it wouldn’t happen anyway. She knew nothing of Jujutsu then.

Everyone around her now had a weird obsession with choosing how they’d die. It was nothing more than an unrealistic coping mechanism in this line of work. Something people pretend to have control of to calm their trembling hands when a veil closes behind them. You don’t get to decide which curse stabs you through the chest and on what day of the week. Mortality and your lack of agency over it are something that you come to understand intimately as a jujutsu sorcerer. 

Most sorcerers die within their first 5 years; it’s hardly ever a matter of if you die on the job, and more of a matter of when. Considering how much she’d lost over the past 5 years, Y/N thought that when she met her mortal end in the field, she’d at least be ready for it. Yet here she was, fading in and out of consciousness with only the cool press of alleyway brick through her thin shirt keeping her tethered, thinking only about how she forgot to water the plants in her window that morning.

The gaping wound in her side throbbed with every weakening beat of her heart. She’d had an easier time moving her dresser into her 3rd-floor apartment than opening her eyes to locate the curse she was sent to exorcise. If she hadn’t lost so much blood, if her head didn’t feel like it was full of cotton, this would be terrifying. Y/N was sure that her ankle was sprained at best, absolutely shattered at worst. Every shallow breath she took burned. Despite all of this, the pain that trumped it all was the pang of disappointment nestled deep between her third and fourth rib.

Is this all that there is?

She was going to die before becoming a Grade 1 sorcerer. She was going to die before ever truly falling in love. She was going to die without beating Satoru in Mario Kart— how fucking embarrassing. Everything about her life was embarrassing. She had no car, never moved out of her shitty apartment, and the two best friends she’d ever had were gone. 

At least she had Gojo. God, Gojo.

But Haibara, the sweetest, brightest soul she’d ever met— his light was snuffed out right in front of her. It was all her fault. If she were faster, smarter, more talented, the Haibara family would still have their son. Nanami wouldn’t have resented her so much that he’d leave without saying goodbye. She’d still have her friend– her friends. 

God, was this how Haibara felt in those split few moments before he died? Did he feel himself slipping away? Was he mad at himself? He couldn’t have been full of regret. Y/N couldn’t count on both hands and feet the number of times Haibara had waxed poetic about how important it was to move through life without it. 

Was he mad at her? No, Haibara couldn’t be upset if he tried. But was that really true? Grief had a funny way of skewing perspectives. In her desperate attempt to keep Haibara’s memory alive, maybe she had bastardized his legacy. Was he slow to anger?  Did he resent her? What color were his eyes? Did he blame her? When was his birthday? Did he hate her? Did he hate her? Does he hate her? 

A wet cough burst through her lips and sent lightning down her spine. I suppose I’ll be able to ask him soon.

That was a bold assumption, though. She might not see Haibara in the afterlife. She probably wouldn’t. If there were a heaven, Haibara would definitely be there. She tripped a kid who was throwing a tantrum in the condiments aisle a few weeks ago, so she was absolutely going to hell. It was unlikely they’d cross paths, but maybe he’d send her a letter in the mail. Maybe she’d get one from Jun, too. What was she even talking about? Did she even believe in the afterlife? She was running out of time to start. 

The alleyway reeked of garbage and gasoline. A cat was rummaging through the overturned dumpster on Y/N’s right, and it kept throwing up every few bites. Poor thing, she felt the same way. 

“Hey, sweetie,” she rasped, fingers twitching in hopes of beckoning the creature over. The apple it was picking at fell as it stared blankly at her with one eye. The other was covered by a large gash, still bleeding. She stared back. The flickering streetlight above illuminated the green of the cat’s eye. Pure jade. She choked back a sob. 

She wasn’t going to survive this mission, and this back alley was nothing like Taipei.

Instead of staring at the noise she made, the cat crept closer. Slowly, and with caution, it closed the gap between them. Before she could muster the strength to raise her arm and pet its head, the wall behind her broke open, spraying debris across the alley and sending her careening into the dumpster. 

“Fuck!” 

Once she’d stopped rolling, she looked up to see the curse that put her in this position. It was nothing like any first-grade curse she’d seen before (because, to be fair, she hadn’t seen many) and had given her a thrashing like she used the Lord’s name in vain on a Sunday. The curse was like a Hydra, regenerating twofold with every offense she sent its way. She took her eyes off of it for one second, just one, and it threw her through a building and into the alleyway where she now lay face up and cross-eyed. 

The cursed energy it emitted was nauseating, and the stench, worse. Bile rose to her throat, but before she had the chance to vomit, the Hydra-curse grabbed her by the sprained/broken ankle and tossed her into the air. 

For a moment, time froze.

She remembered suddenly the last time she was in over her head on a mission. How things spiraled out of control so quickly, she still doesn’t know. She, however, knew that she couldn’t keep up.

Y/N was sure she was lying near a puddle of gasoline, the smell of it sharp enough to bring some clarity to her, pulling her back from the haze of injury. Slowly, she lifted her head, summoning all the strength she had to focus her eyes and see where the curse had flailed off to. Her eyes passed over the broken wall, the overflowing dumpster, and the pavement, still unable to find the curse. Instead, she found the cat. With its wide green eyes staring at her like it was trying to say something, and maybe it was.

All she heard was Haibara’s laugh…

Tears welled in her eyes, and her breath came out jagged, like she was about to start sobbing. Today wasn’t going to be the day she died. She couldn’t have survived that mission back in high school, only to do nothing to change the world of sorcery, or even the life of a student. So she rolled over, clawed her hands into the broken concrete, and got to her knees, looking up and seeing the curse sniff around the area, apparently unaware of the fact that she was still alive–bleeding and hardly able to stand, but alive. 

It had to be after the finger, that’s what they all were after. Smaller curses had piled into the bus after her earlier, all entranced by the overwhelming presence of the object tucked away in Y/N’s purse. They followed her down the street as she walked, forcing her to constantly stop at corners, exorcise, and continue. This looming hydra didn’t seem to have the best eyesight, using what was the closest thing to a nose to smell around, often encountering fly heads and garbage instead.

Y/N’s head was pounding, and her ankle felt like it would give out at any time, but she was grateful to come to the insight now rather than post mortem. This was her way out. She limped over to where her purse had been flung, digging around for where Sukuna’s finger was zipped in the side.

The curse whipped its head around, the opening of the zipper apparently overwhelming the smell of the alleyway, and it charged for her.

Y/N groaned and willed her threads into view, frustrated that they flickered like old Christmas lights. A blue thread was strung taut, caught on the bricks at the edges of the two buildings, so she grabbed it and jumped as high as she could to get her body on top of the line to reach the tangled web above it.

“Fuck my life,” she groaned out, lying on her stomach over the wire, and scrambling to get her feet on it instead to jump again, but this time she didn’t get lucky. The curse knocked its head into her, sending her flying into the side of the wall. Pain seared through her back, taking the brunt of the force as she sat against the brick.

Her purse had been kicked aside, now lying feet away from her. The curse continued its search for the finger, allowing Y/N just enough time to crawl, gravel digging into her bleeding knee caps and grab the handle between the neon mess of threads along the ground, lying in a puddle of oil and rainwater. She didn’t know if she had it in her to stand again, her muscles shaking with the effort it took to lift the bag into her lap.

Whatever she was going to do, she had to do it now.

“Hey!” she yelled, catching the curse’s attention. It turned its head towards her, sniffing towards her to see where she was. Y/N grabbed the finger and chucked it as hard as she could, the opposite way down the alley, watching as the curse caught the scent and began bounding towards it. She grabbed the threads knotted on the ground, a mix of grays, blues, greens, oranges, and reds, and pulled, tripping the curse and watching it slam into the concrete. Karma.

Y/N grabbed her lighter, grateful for once in her life to be a smoker, and lit the flame, holding it against the threads slick with gasoline. They quickly caught fire, sending light dancing around the alley like a hellish rainbow disco. She let them drop, covering the top of the curse like a net of flame, allowing Y/N just enough time to crawl closer to the heads, grab one of her own strings, and lasso it around the heads, pulling with all her might to slice through each neck.

Its body flailed for a second, thrashing around helplessly as the stench of its burning skin filled the air. Then it went still. Y/N slumped over, on the verge of passing out, almost incapable of movement. But in the few moments before she blacked out, she swore she heard Haibara’s voice echoing down the alleyway calling her name.

In the midst of it all, she’d grabbed his string. And it saved her life. She had enough in her to dial Ijichi’s number, hearing him ask where she was before it went black.

****************

August 2007

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

Haibara’s corpse was on a table at the center of the room. Y/N sat on the ground in the corner, one eye open, watching him, as if expecting his fingers to twitch and his eyes to open. That it was a prank, or a miracle, or a horrible dream. Though some part of her knew even the darkest corners of her mind could not come up with something like this. 

Her left eye wouldn’t open. Shoko, in silence, moved her hands over the deep cut that had split her brow and trailed over her eyelid and stopped a centimeter below her eye. It was an easy fix for the young medic, yet her hands shook. Part of Y/N hoped it wouldn’t heal properly, and the mark would be disgusting and loud, filling up any room she entered. Then, people would be forced to remember what happened, like her. She assumed this grief, though new, would consume her every moment until it was time for everyone to grieve her. 

“Try to keep it closed, for a little while, and I’ll come check on it later…” Shoko droned as she stood, getting ready to leave. She still had other patients. 

Y/N watched Nanami stop Shoko as she walked past, muttering, “Is she going to be alright?”

Shoko nodded, her hand on his shoulder, which tensed. “You two need to get some rest.”

And then she was gone, leaving them alone again, with the body of their friend. Nanami was speaking to anyone who walked in, but never to her. She’d sat on the floor in the corner, despite many open chairs, because his silence was scaring her. He leaned back against the wall, taking slow, deep breaths, with a towel over his eyes. His stillness was buzzing with anger, and she didn’t know where else he could direct it but at her. She’d reacted too slowly, and now Haibara was dead. 

Geto came in about an hour later, his face betrayed his shock that the two-second years were still sitting there, as if something might change. The upperclassman knew better than to ask what happened, but they could both tell he wanted to. 

“It was supposed to be an easy mission to defeat a Grade 2 cursed spirit. Between the three of us…” He spoke gruffly, the towel still covering his face, but she was beginning to suspect he was crying. 

Geto looked at her, his eyes concerned. She just shook her head, knowing the moment he was talking about, how she’d dived to save their friend and hadn’t made it in time. 

Enraged, Nanami kept speaking. “That was a local deity….that was a first-grade case!”

As he yelled, he threw one of the empty chairs against the wall of the morgue lockers. Y/N flinched, pushing herself further into the wall, her hands coming to cover the sides of her head, self-soothing, stroking her own hair. 

Geto noticed, taking a few gentle steps over to her, crouching down to her level, his hand lifting her face so she could look at him. His thumb traced the bottom of her scar as he spoke softly. “Is the thread silver?”

She nodded. 

“Fully?” He clarified—there had been times in the past when someone had nearly died, and parts of their threads would turn silver, as if preparing for their final moment. 

She nodded again, her lip trembling. She watched as Geto looked between her and Nanami, growing even more concerned. 

“You’re okay…” He soothed, something tortured behind his eyes. “Let me walk you back to your room.”

She looked over at Nanami, whose eyes were still covered, but she could see the way his shoulders tensed at the idea she might leave. “No, thank you. I’ll stay a little while longer.”

As she’d expected, the boy’s shoulders lowered, if only slightly. 

*******************

December 9, 2011

Y/N’s shitty apartment

The sun washed over Y/N's face, golden hour lighting up her room in hues of orange and pink, melting into the colors of her rugs, sheets, posters, and walls. She wanted to grab it. Hold the light in her hands and let it escape through her fingers like water. It did the same in Y/N, coating her skin, the inside of her nose as she breathed it in, and her lungs. Ijichi had found her in the alley, rushing her to the school, keeping her alive enough to be home that night, lying in her bed with light absorbing into her skin cells, lighting her up from the inside out. 

It overwhelmed her. It reminded her that she was alive and breathing. Tears poured down her cheeks, sparkling in the golden rays as they rolled down her face, dripping off into her lap. She'd spent so much time feeling life push on her shoulders, depression clawing into them and letting her drag it around behind her, settling on her chest every night as she slept. The grief of losing Haibara framed the edges of her, like a layer of dead skin that no matter how hard she scrubbed at, she couldn't shed. 

For so long, she grieved the loss of a friend, but also of her old life. When things were easier and comfortable. When she could look at herself in the mirror and not see the traces of Haibara's life in her, and pray it got destroyed. As much as she wanted to cling to those parts, they reminded her of her own shortcomings. Her fault. 

She loved Haibara. When the light warmed her face, it was as if Haibara were reaching his hands out to hold her, warming her skin with his palms, holding the weight of her head, letting her rest. He didn't blame her for what happened. She knew he wanted her to keep working towards what she'd always wanted. He wanted her to feel love and joy and cry and be mad. Stub her toe, do her makeup, buy the too-expensive coffee. Fall in love, fall out of it, and shatter on the ground, and get the chance to pick it all back up, maybe giving a few pieces to someone else to hold for a while.

He wanted her to live. 

She was still poor, and her friend had abandoned her, and her student was dead. But Y/N had a friend, the sun was out, and life was beautiful. 

Everything would be okay. 

*******************

Juju Stroll!

2012

Tokyo Jujutsu High School

“Do you have chapstick?” Gojo asked, leaning his head into Y/N’s classroom doorway. When she said yes, he grinned and moved into the space, looming over her desk. She dug through her purse and scrunched her brow, unable to find the little tube she kept on her at all times. Y/N searched through her desk drawers and patted down her pockets, growing more frustrated by the second.

“What?” Gojo asked.

“I can’t find it.” She kept searching through her bag. “The closest thing I have is this.” Y/N pulled out a clear drugstore lip gloss, the tube almost empty from use.

“That’ll work.”

Gojo slid the gloss against his open lips and pressed them together until they shone, just like he’d seen Y/N do a million times. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find a comment snide enough to make fun of him if it didn’t look better on him than it did her, and she knew a losing battle when she saw one. What she didn’t know was that Gojo liked her lip glosses so much that he showed up to work the next day with his own in his pocket.