Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are three things of which Toji is absolutely sure:

1. White is a hideous hair color.

No, he’s not talking about the type you see on old farts and poodles. He’s talking about the type you see on cocky bastards with six beady eyes and limitless arrogance, snowflake locks rustling gently in the breeze as globs of crimson spattered from Toji’s chest onto the fractured ground, in a twisted imitation of abstract art. 

It’s Toji’s earliest memory since he lost most of them, and it’s patchy; all he remembers is a crystal blue sky hiding between the stormclouds in the boy’s deadly eyes, his limbs bent and unhinged like a broken doll, an airy smile slipped across his lips as if he were mocking him. Toji’s instincts had flared and he ignored them, as red clouded his vision and black swallowed his heart -- and then everything was hollow. That man punctuates the end and beginning of Toji’s life, cleaving his existence into two halves of something that was never even whole to begin with. Which brings him to his next fact:

     2. Toji should not be alive anymore.

He should’ve died that day; and he’s pretty sure a part of him did, in some way or another. But he’d opened his eyes anyways and his back ached from laying too long against a cold metal surface, and the first sight that greeted him was a woman with long flaxen hair who asked, “What kind of woman is your type?” He’d looked her up and down with a wry smile and replied, “Not you,” even though that was kind of a lie. Beside her was a woman in a bleach-white lab coat with under-eye bags so deep they could’ve buried a body.

It hadn’t taken him long to notice the strange stitches on his side and around his bicep, and his left arm looked eerily like it wasn’t originally his own. Upon blinking the death out of his gaze, the blonde introduced herself as Yuki and had called him Toji -- and when he’d asked her if that was really his name, her eyes went wide as saucers and the examination began. While Toji doesn’t think he would’ve otherwise minded being poked and prodded by two beautiful women at the same time, it felt hauntingly similar to being a specimen under a microscope -- like he was more dead than alive, a butchered, broken mess of a thing. 

It didn’t take long for the doctor to conclude that he had something akin to ‘severe shock-induced amnesia.’ Yuki had opened her mouth to presumably spill his life’s story, but the doctor slapped a hand over her face, saying it was best if memories ‘like that’ came back naturally -- and Toji really didn’t like what that implied. Kinda made him want to leave those memories buried, forgotten in the chasms of his brain where they belonged. He could keep the baggage, or just burn the whole suitcase instead.

Yuki explained that once, before whatever this was happened, he’d blown her off and refused to let her study him. He hadn’t really understood why at first, but he had nothing better to do, so he’d accepted. Besides, he figured he somewhat owed her for saving his life. She told him to lay low and use a fake name; he went with “Toshirou” because it was easy to remember and felt no less real than his actual name. There wasn’t much that felt real back then, actually. Except his one last piece of knowledge about himself:

    3. Toji is not a good person.

There’s the issue that everything he touches feels like grime after he lays his hands on it, along with having the moral compass of a crocodile and the self-preservation instincts of an alley cat, willing to dig through dumpsters and lick fishbones clean just to survive. He cycles through each of the seven deadly sins on a daily basis; laziness tethers him to slumber every morning like weights around his ankles, hunger for food and cash being the only thing that drags him out. He wakes in someone else’s bed more often than not, breath reeking of booze and lipstick smeared across his chest. There’s a twisted pride in his guts and he doesn’t know where it came from, only that it makes the stitches on his body itch and ooze with blood, pulsing with unfounded jealousy and anger with no origin.

He wonders if he was just born this way, or if something lost in the maze of his memories made him like this, and he’s not sure he wants to find out. Something strange tells him you don’t just wake up jaded like this. It’s not that he hates the world; he’s just not interested in it at all. 

It’s been almost a year and a half since then. There are days when he almost catches a glimpse of the person he used to be, and it never fails to make him look away from the mirror. Yuki stops by every once in a while to see if any memories have resurfaced, but they never do. Other things, beyond his three self-imposed commandments -- like a childhood, an occupation, even a last name -- still elude him. 

It’s just a hunch, but he thinks he might've had a family once. It stems from feeling like there’s a hole in his heart completely unrelated to when the white-haired brat carved out a gruesome cavity in the left side of his chest. 

But wherever they are, they’re long gone now. If god forbid, his family is dead or lost forever, he’d rather die himself than remember it. Life is way easier if he’s just on his own.

Getting reacquainted with the realm of curses was quick; it’s more of a crash-course necessity that comes along with seeing everything from eight-headed serpents to talking spiders on his morning run alone. Before he’d called up Yuki and she’d filled him in on the barebones of jujutsu, he’d freaked out a whole crowd of people by having a conversation with a very human-like cursed spirit by the bus stop one morning -- yeah, that was hilarious. Would’ve been embarrassing if he had any shame. 

It takes him just slightly more time to learn that he’s different from the other inhabitants of the dark underbelly of the jujutsu world, and every other citizen in general. Cursed energy flows through their veins in everything from tiny creeks to surging rivers, but Toji himself has none at all.

Eventually, he finds himself in the dregs of society. He had pitiful success trying to work “normal jobs”: he got fired after three days working in a warehouse (fell asleep in one of the boxes and almost got shipped to Argentina), didn’t make it a week as a janitor (took one look at the office bathroom after a party and quit), and didn’t even last a single night as a waiter (poured vodka on a toddler’s head -- don’t ask). Now, he’s what some might call…a freelancer. People pay him to do shit, and they like him because he doesn’t ask questions. He hasn’t killed anyone yet, but he wouldn’t put it past himself; not now, nor in the life he can’t remember. 

It’s how he hears the first whisper of who he was in his past life: from his instincts in combat. The thrill of the fight is when he feels closest to unlocking those memories buried deep inside his marrow -- each time he lands a knockout blow, the key almost feels within his grasp. So he keeps on fighting; not necessarily because he wants to remember, but it seems like it’s the only thing he’s any good at.

The fateful day starts out like any other. Toji breaks his own record of “world’s worst cup of coffee” before leaving the confines of his shithole apartment. It’s not like the shady jobs he takes don’t pay him well enough to live somewhere better, but Toji’s spending habits leave something to be desired. He couldn’t hold onto cash if it were glued to his pockets. What can he say? He’s a sucker for a good gamble. Not that he’s ever had a good gamble. Maybe he’s just not Lady Luck’s type, because he has yet to take her home even once.

His first -- and what ends up being his only -- stop is at a weapons shop, tucked deep within a dingy unmarked alley in the worst part of town. His last fight wrecked his favorite sword, thanks to a haughty bastard who must’ve found it funny to crack the blade when Toji slotted it between his ribs. Asshole.

The crisp air of the midmorning sky is just beginning to weigh heavy with traffic smog, tainting the wind with the faint scent of asphalt and gasoline. Instead of a bell, broken knife shards chime together as he heaves open the bulky wooden door, and the tension knotted in his shoulders slips away as soon as the entrance creaks shut. It’s so incredibly fucked up he’s most comfortable here that it’s almost hilarious.

The shopkeeper greets him with a grunt without looking up from his newspaper. Toji peruses the shelves leisurely, eyes glinting with slick silver and reflective gold, until the makeshift bell chimes again, and all time beyond the door pulls to a halt.

In walks a little girl. She’s dressed in what appears to be some sort of servant’s attire, a thick cotton kimono top woven with ivory thread and a pleated cobalt skirt too long for her short ankles. Pin-straight hair the color of an evergreen forest dusts her shoulders in a blunt bob, and bangs just a touch too long brush against a dark fan of sparse lashes. 

Something undefinable jolts through Toji’s veins like a thunderstrike on dry grass. All five of his heightened senses burst into wildfire at once. There’s something about her presence that burns hotter than the scorching infernos in all nine circles of hell, despite her cursed energy barely shining brighter than the tip of a candle. 

In fact, the only person he’s ever encountered with less cursed energy is himself. It’s like seeing his own reflection in a funhouse mirror a third of his size.

Blood thrums in his head, and he starts to feel dizzy. All of a sudden and all at once, his first real memory of his life before his fight with the Six-Eyes slams into him full-force like an overturned truck.

Light raindrops patter gently against the single-pane window, leaving long streaks of shadows across the hospital floor, cutting the dim light filtering in through the blinds into hazy stripes. Near the corner of the room, a heart monitor beeps in a slow, steady rhythm, the staccato nearly playing in tune with the sound of the storm.

In the bed beside him, a woman inhales and exhales in shaky, drawn-out breaths, carefully recuperating after sixteen grueling hours of labor that felt more like a century.

Soft coos fill the room like music, and Toji holds the newborn child closer to his chest. He can’t tear his eyes away from the tiny life bundled in a cheap blanket in his arms, his whole being completely captivated with starstruck awe. The child wraps a little hand around his finger, and nothing in Toji’s life has ever come close to this.

“Toji, you’re spacing out again,” the woman chuckles, her voice sweet like raw sugar and molten honey. “Did you hear me? What should we name our baby?”

Toji takes a deep breath, and the baby smiles up at him. There is only one name worthy of a child as perfect as this.

“M---”

“Oi, kid,” Toji says. Fuck, his voice came out way shakier than he wanted it to. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

The girl glares daggers at him from behind a pair of red-rimmed glasses too big for her tiny face. She’s looking at him like he’s totally crazy, which isn’t entirely untrue. “Huh? Who the heck are you?”

In lieu of answering, he asks, “What’s your name?”

The girl scowls. “Maki.”

“Maki,” he repeats, and it’s like a missing piece of his soul falls back into place. The record of his life before he fought the Six-Eyes brat is a long, impossibly white scroll of nothing -- but written on it in faint letters is the name of a child, a child with a delicate name that brushed the heavens, spun a prayer into letters; a name that began with an M, and it ended in i, too. 

“Maki,” he says again. “I think you’re my daughter.”

Maki blinks, and the shopkeeper gives him a weird look. Alright, maybe blurting out something like that wasn’t exactly his brightest moment, but Toji isn’t exactly a bright person. He folds his arms across his chest and shifts his weight, if for no other reason than to keep his shit together. Last thing he needs is for her to bolt before they even have the chance to talk.

After his words sink in, Maki pulls a disgusted face so sour Toji would be proud if it weren’t directed at him. Yup, she’s definitely his kid. “Hah? I have a worthless dad already, so no thanks.”

Damn, ouch. That would’ve dented his pride if his self-loathing didn’t already do it for her. “Worthless?” he repeats casually. “And what makes ya say that?”

“You’re loitering by yourself inside a weapons shop in tattered clothes at ten o’clock in the morning. I can put two and two together.”

Lord, the mouth on this girl. She can’t be more than six years old. Toji has to fight back the wolfish grin that threatens to overtake his features. He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Can’t argue with that,” he replies with a shrug. “But what’s a little kid like you doing loitering by yourself inside a weapons shop at ten o’clock in the morning?”

Maki squeezes her fists. “I’m not a little kid!”

“You’re practically a fetus.”

But Maki doesn’t deign herself into taking the bait. Instead, she knits her arms together and switches her hips -- until she realizes she’s struck the exact same pose as him, then she straightens out stiff as a board. “I’m busy, so can you go be weird somewhere else?”

“Nah, I’m perfectly fine being weird right here,” Toji quips with a dismissive wave. “Besides, I’m busy too.”

Maki turns up her nose and huffs, putting far too much effort into pretending to ignore him for it to appear natural. He must’ve been staring at her too hard, because the shopkeeper loudly clears his throat, arches an eyebrow over the edge of his newspaper, and levels him a disapproving look. Toji fails to suppress a snort, and Maki fails to suppress a flinch when he does it.

She turns her back towards him to face a shelf lined with combat knives, and stands there staring at them for a ridiculously long time. It’s so painfully quiet that the old clock ticking on the wall might as well be a marching band drumline, with how much the silence echoes throughout the room. There’s a paper grocery bag slung over her shoulder, and judging from the slow and steady drip from its corner, she has warm food in it that’s getting cold and cold food in it that’s getting warm.

Christ, this is gonna take forever. It’s almost hard to watch. Toji has to intervene.

“Who are you buying that for?” Toji asks her, although something tells him that he already knows the answer.

“Who do you think?” she bites back, glancing over her shoulder with her brows furrowed together. “It’s for me, duh.”

It’s like looking in a goddamn mirror. “Why? You got someone you wanna stab?”

“Yeah,” she replies, oddly determined. “Tons of people.”

Toji’s holding back a smirk so hard his cheeks are starting to hurt. “You should get that one, then,” he suggests, pointing towards a knife made of black carbon with a slight arc to its blade. “Handle’s got a great grip that prevents traction even if your hand gets drenched in blood. If you face the blunt edge towards ya, that thing’ll parry blows from weapons five times its size. Plus, that material’s just what you’re lookin’ for, since it won’t dull even if you gotta stab multiple people back to back.”

He can’t tell if that look on her face is one of harsh judgment or morbid fascination, but it’s probably a healthy mix of both. “Uh,” she says intelligently, lifting the knife from the shelf without breaking his gaze. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Toji replies. Maki places the knife on the counter, withdrawing her coin purse as she prepares to pay and -- fuck, does she have more money on her than he does right now? That’d be hilarious if it weren’t so pathetic. Damn those horse races. This is all their fault.

Maki tucks the weapon into a deep pocket in her skirt, as if she’s planning to hide it from whoever she’s going home to. Without another glance in his direction, she gives a curt bow of thanks to the shopkeeper, pivots on her heels, and shoves open the door.

So Toji follows more on autopilot than of his own volition. If his instincts are correct and there’s some connection between the two of them -- if this girl truly is his daughter -- then there’s no way he can let her slip through his fingers, for more reasons than he can possibly count. Something urgent and desperate surges through him, and he clears his throat.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

Maki whirls around and glowers at him, her warm golden eyes cold as a lake in the dead of winter.  “Do I need to call the cops?”

Wow, this is going very poorly. Toji wishes he were surprised, but it would almost be more surprising if something actually went his way for once. And ain’t that sad?

Toji tries to think of something to say, but it feels like he’s just grasping at straws. “You even know how to use that thing?”

“Yes,” she replies, but the lie is so obvious her nose might as well be growing like Pinnochio’s. Bingo. Kids are so easy to read.

Toji steels his resolve. “I can teach you.”

Maki thrusts her hands onto her hips, dripping more water from the now very drenched grocery bag onto the pavement in the plaza. “And why should I believe that you know how to use it?”

“What, my sagely advice wasn’t proof enough for ya?” he snorts. “Well, it’s like you said, isn’t it? I was loitering by myself inside a weapons shop in tattered clothes at ten o’clock in the morning. You said you knew what that implied--” he arches a single taunting eyebrow, “--unless that was just talk.”

Maki narrows her eyes into dark slits. “What’s the catch?” she snaps. “Why are you even offering?”

Toji gulps. He feels like he really shouldn’t repeat it. She clearly doesn’t believe him, and he’s not gonna push it. He’s lucky she even turned around to talk to him now.

“Y’know,” he starts instead, frying the few meager brain cells he has left. “Because I’m a super nice guy.”

Yeah, Maki looks thoroughly unimpressed.

“You think I’m just gonna accept dangerous combat lessons from a random suspicious person?”

Toji frowns. There’s a dark stain on his shirt that’s either coffee or blood -- either is equally likely. They’re often both part of his morning routine. He jerks a hand over it gracelessly. “I’m not a suspicious person.”

“You’re the textbook definition of a suspicious person!”

Hang on, he can work with this. “You read a lot of textbooks?”

Maki rolls her eyes. “I need to get back to my family, so leave me alone.”

That stings a surprising amount. “Your family?”

“Yeah, my family,” she spits, her voice tinged with a bitter sadness Toji can’t quite place. Then under her breath she adds, “Useless, all of ‘em. Even worse than you.”

“You don’t even know me!”

Somehow, he earns a smirk from her at that. “Yeah, exactly.”

She turns back around to leave. Shit, he’s losing her. He’s got one last trick up his sleeve.

“Lemme prove it,” Toji calls. “Try to attack me with that knife.”

Unsurprisingly, this piques her interest. “Fine,” she replies smoothly. “But don’t blame me if you die.”

Gotta love that unwavering confidence -- even if it’s completely baseless right now. She’s his spitting image.

Maki inhales a sharp breath and sets the grocery bag on the pavement beside her. She slams her toes into the asphalt and surges forward like an arrow, withdrawing the knife from the fluttering folds of her skirt in the same swift motion. Her legs sweep low to the ground, focus in both her face and body narrowed directly towards her target. Her shoulders draw back and her knees absorb the impact of her sprinting, building up energy like a rubber band ready to snap.

It’s freakishly uncanny how much her movements are just like his. There isn’t a shred of doubt left in his mind anymore. 

This girl is his child. She’s exactly like Toji when he was her age.

Wait, when I was her age?!

Before the memory can return, the knife is whistling towards him -- when the hell did Maki jump?! -- and her grip on it tightens as if ready to plunge into his chest. Toji won’t hesitate to admit that he’s impressed; but her technique is lackluster, and her footwork is sloppy at best. Toji dives towards her, swiping the knife effortlessly from her grasp in the moment between two fractions of a second.

To her credit, she rights herself fast; but not fast enough. Her eyes widen in panic when he false-swipes the blade towards her chest, only to pitch it up at the last moment to catch it in his teeth -- alright, sue him for showing off a bit -- and flicks her on the forehead right between the eyes instead.

“See?” He withdraws the blade from his mouth and twirls it nimbly between the ladder of his fingers, then licks off the bead of blood he draws from balancing it on his fingertip -- okay, he’s showing off a lot. If the indignant pout on her face is any sign, his devilish grin must be stretching from ear to ear. “Told ya.”

Maki huffs in annoyance and makes a show of rolling her eyes across the whole plaza, but Toji can tell she’s begrudgingly impressed. 

Victory. 

They don’t have the same eye color, but they’ve got the same look in them. He knows Maki must see it too, from the way she scrutinizes his features as if trying to decipher a code. Her face is unreadable; she reaches out her hand wordlessly to take back her knife, and Toji gives it to her. She slips it back into her pocket and retrieves her grocery bag, her eye contact burning through Toji’s own.

“What’s your name?”

He should give her his fake one; Toshirou dances in the back of his throat, but the word dies long before it can reach his tongue.

“Toji.”

“Toji,” she repeats, as if she’s pocketing it for later. “Bye, I guess.”

“There’s an old building a couple blocks away from here,” he calls after her. “Big hulking grey thing, ya can’t miss it. Ugly as sin, but it’s got good floors and full-length mirrors perfect for combat practice.” He gulps, and his throat feels totally dry. “In three days. How about it?”

Maki doesn’t turn around; Toji’s chest sinks. Then she pauses, ever so briefly, and replies, “Nine o’clock.”

“Eleven o’clock.”

“Ten.”

She continues on after that, and Toji watches as her figure shrinks smaller and smaller towards the horizon until she disappears into the afternoon. It’s only then that he finally allows himself to exhale, and his shoulders slump, exhausted.

Oh crap, he forgot to buy a sword for himself.

Eh, whatever. He can always come back later. Toji saunters over to a nearby bench and plops down, basking languidly as rays of light drench his chest with a gentle warmth he’s sure isn’t coming from the sun alone. 

He closes his eyes, loses himself to the chorus of traffic all around him, and can’t help the feeling that his life has just been changed forever.

Chapter Text

Toji’s not used to being right. And weirdly, he got used to that.

It was almost easier that way, living with zero expectations. Just a guy without a name or a purpose, a slate wiped with a half-hearted attempt to be clean that instead left him riddled with scuffs and smudges, in a mottled array of faded colors. He was fine with it, carrying out meaningless carnage with a mechanicality more appropriate for a puppet on a string than for a human being.

But the fact that his hunch about having a family was right? Now that scares him.

Even if that family wants nothing to do with him. Toji can’t even blame her. What kid would want a parent that disappeared on them then forgot they ever existed?

Because fuck. Does he even want a kid in his life? He has no idea how to make himself happy, let alone a child. It goes without saying that Toji would make a shitty parent, and every time he thinks of the way Maki had just glared at him, that reminder blares in his mind like a fire alarm, warning him that he’s nothing but a jumbled mess of red flags. 

It’s not fair to her, but he can’t help it. Toji never claimed to be a good person anyways. He can’t bring himself to regret his offer, but there are so many uncertainties that it makes his world glitch and swaddles his brain in a blanket of cotton.

But fuck it. He made a promise. He gave her his word, and even though his word is fucking worthless, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try.

And so he goes to the old grey building three days later, because he freakin’ said so.

For the first time in as much of his life as he can remember, Toji isn’t just not late -- he’s early. He’s almost a whole hour early, and--

--Maki is already here, because of course she is.

She’s curled up outside the main door with her knees huddled to her chest, eyes glazed over and unseeing as if she’s staring through the pavement rather than at it. The faintest tinge of purple  lies in half-moons beneath her eyes, the way they might look if she’d hardly gotten any sleep the night before. It’s barely even noticeable, but Toji is nothing if not observant.

It might also help that he saw the same exact look on his own face when he’d glanced in the mirror this morning.

Maybe she was nervous? Nah, probably not. Even after just one conversation, Toji’s pretty sure that emotion isn’t in her limited range.

He’s nervous, though, not that he’d admit it. It creeps up in the form of a chill that has nothing to do with the biting morning wind that nips at his face, the kind he couldn’t warm up no matter how many of his pathetically thin blankets he’d piled on top of himself last night. It makes every hair on his body stand at attention and spreads his senses in a million and none directions, and he’s painfully hyper-aware that his actions today could have drastic and irreversible consequences. If he can’t live up to his lofty claims and flashy maneuvers from the day at the weapons shop, she might storm out and never look back. And that’d be it. 

He can’t fuck this up, not again, not like he does with everything else. He’s already lost her once. Toji can barely live with himself as is, and he’s not sure if he could manage it at all if he made the same mistake this time around.

Though Maki doesn’t move, he can tell she’s noticed him. She doesn’t bother looking up until he’s right at her feet, and when she does, it’s with a smirk entirely too soft than he was expecting, and it knocks the wind out of his chest just long enough for her to speak first.

“You’re early,” she says flatly, but with an amused lilt to her voice that makes her seem like herself again.

Toji flaps a hand ungracefully. “Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” There’s no way she isn’t gonna hold this over his head. “The hell are you waiting outside in the cold for? Ya need an invitation from the rat king to the royal ball he’s hosting in his abandoned palace?”

“Just making sure I was in the right place,” she replies in a way that would almost sound defensive if Toji didn’t know better.

Okay, so maybe she is nervous. But she seems about as ready to admit to that as he is. Besides, it’s probably for entirely different reasons than he is.

Well, he sure as hell doesn’t know how to comfort nerves, but he does know how to diffuse them. When she still doesn’t get up, Toji strolls up to the door theatrically and holds it open with a bow. “After you, princess,” he taunts. That gets a reaction out of her. She marches past him and goes to stomp on his foot, but he flicks it away at the last second with an impish grin. 

Toji kicks away a stray brick that falls from the ceiling when he slams the door behind them. There’s a cluster of low-grade curses scuttling around in the corner of the room, bouncing up and down like a slinky on a staircase. Maki’s eyes flick back and forth, as if she’s trying very hard not to look at something -- huh? Toji chucks a rock at them and they split apart like mice, darting off in a starburst of directions and Maki gasps, far too loud and far too honest for her to even have a chance to suppress her reaction, and her jaw drops to the floor. “Wait, you could see those?!”

Toji’s eyebrows shoot straight to the ceiling, physics and biology be damned. “Could you?!”

Immediately, Maki’s hands fly to her glasses. She grips their red-wired rims in her tiny hands with an iron strength, almost as if she’s expecting him to wrench them off her face in the next two seconds. What the hell? 

“My--my glasses help me,” she explains. She narrows her eyes into panther-like slits, but Toji doesn’t miss the flash of panic that streaks across them. “Wait, are you a sorcerer?”

“Pffft.” Toji can barely dignify that question with a response. “Do I look like a sorcerer, kid?”

“I don’t know,” she replies. Her face isn’t changing. “I know sorcerers with way worse attitudes than you.”

“Christ, this again? You don’t even know me.”

She gives him the same response as she did the first time. “Yeah, exactly.”

Uh, this isn’t going well. Not that Toji’s a big fan of sorcerers, either. He’s only had to work with a few -- and beat up a couple others -- in the past year and a half, but they’d had him so brain-dead after interacting with them for more than five minutes that he’d almost wanted to forget who he was. Again.

And all that is before taking that white-haired brat into account. Toji barely knows a thing about him, but he’s pretty sure he hates his guts.

At least Yuki is tolerable.

”Nah, I ain’t a sorcerer,” Toji clarifies. “Why, you trainin’ to be one or something?”

“Yes,” she replies, with resolution strong enough to shove mountains and dent steel. “I am.”

“Huh,” is all he can think of to respond to that. Man, he’s really wishing Yuki told him more about the jujutsu world right about now. “That who your family is? Bunch of hot-shot sorcerers? What’s your--” what’s that term again? “--uh, inherent technique?”

“Innate technique,” she corrects with the tiniest hints of a grin. Oh come on, that was close enough. “And I--” Her eyes plummet to the floor, and her lips press together so tightly they start to tremble. “I don’t have one.”

Blinking, “Huh? Ya don’t?”

Maki scowls. “Yeah, I don’t. Got a problem with that?” She folds her arms across her chest, gaze still glued to the ground. “So if you’re gonna try to teach me how to channel my cursed energy, it’s not gonna work. I barely even have any.”

“Barely have any?” Toji smirks. “I don’t have any at all.”

Maki whips her head back towards him so abruptly that her own hair smacks her in the face, expression flashing with something almost like hope. Well shit, maybe this is going well. “You--you don’t?” she stammers. “None at all? And you can still--”

“Still what, make short work of those sorcerers’ sorry asses so fast it makes their empty heads spin?” Toji snorts. “Yup.”

For a single brief moment, he could almost swear her eyes twinkle with awe, the same way a child might stare at a superhero. Toji’s voice snags in his throat, so he loudly clears it and rustles her hair since he’s sure it’ll piss her off -- because uh, he can’t really handle the way she’s looking at him right now. Like he might actually be something, be some one. He doesn’t have nearly enough self-worth to be able to process that, especially coming from--well.

His own kid.

Damn, that’s kinda sad.

Fortunately, Toji’s distraction works, and Maki indignantly tries to de-rustle her hair as Toji strolls to the center of the room, stretching out the muscles in his back. The mirror has gotten smudged again, from when he’d half-assedly wiped it down the last time he came here to train. Which was--a while ago, he thinks. He’s not exactly great at timekeeping. Or keeping track of what day of the week it is.

Thursday, maybe? Whatever.

Maki pads after him. From the pocket on her skirt, she withdraws the knife he recommended to her -- oh hey, she actually kept it -- and presents it to him like an offering. “I brought this,” she announces.

“Ooh, for me? How pretty,” he teases. “Now go put it in the corner, cuz we’re not touchin’ that thing today.”

Maki looks positively incensed. “What?! I thought you said you were gonna teach me how to use it!”

“I am,” Toji confirms. “But you got a hell of a lot of groundwork to do before you’re ready to pick that up again. A house built on weak foundations is doomed to topple over in an earthquake, ya know?”

Maki rolls her eyes, but she listens anyway, plunking down the knife with a dull clink. “That analogy was stupid,” she deadpans.

“You’re stupid,” he finds himself shooting back before he can stop himself. Holy shit, is he fucking five?!

But Maki barks out a single laugh, and without missing a beat, she quips, “I know you are, but what am I?”

Toji chuckles in response. Christ, they’re entirely too alike. Which is--good, he supposes, but she’s also a literal child, so what does that say about his maturity level? Eh, whatever. He never claimed to be a functional adult anyways.

“Listen,” Toji starts. “You don’t swing a knife, or a sword, or anythin’ else for that matter, with your arms. You swing with your legs and with your wrists.”

In response, Maki pulls a face. “What the heck?”

“Oi, let me explain before you gimme that look. Your lower body is way stronger than your upper body. I’m sure you’ve realized how much stronger kicks are than punches, right? Think of it this way. You wouldn’t try to see clearly with the wrong pair of glasses, so why would you try to direct an attack with the weaker half of your body? It’s all about the momentum. You can put a lot more force into a punch if you can drive your whole weight behind it, and you can pivot on your ankles far quicker than you can swing your entire torso.” He outstretches his arms. “And your wrists allow for more precision in your movements, for a quicker reaction time than trying to move your elbow to parry a blow that’ll come before you can even move your shoulder to face it.” Toji taps his bicep for emphasis. “Now, that doesn't mean you can skip arm day. You still need to have the strength to throw solid punches and hold back a weapon someone swings at your face, even if the right technique can get you there in time.”

To demonstrate, Toji bends smoothly into a ready stance, drawing a line with his finger from his shoulders, his hips, his knees, then to his ankles. “You gotta always be thinking about your center of weight,” he continues. “That is where the core of your strength and stability comes from. That doesn’t necessarily mean you gotta try to stay upright all along, but rather that your line of action is balanced between your upper and lower body movements such that if you were to freeze any position you were in during a fight, you’d be able to stay there all day without tippin’ over.”

Maki furrows her brows at him, but Toji can tell she’s soaking it up like a sponge. “That...makes sense,” she says slowly, almost as if she’s surprised that something he said actually does.

“Yeah, ‘course it does. Fighting is a lot more about thinking than you might believe. Then it’s practice, then it’s thinking about practice, and then finally all that thinking and all that practice becomes instincts.” She blinks back at him and nods, and he can’t help but pull a self-satisfied smirk. Nailed it. Hey, maybe he actually has a shot at this whole dad-advice thing. “Now c’mon. Show me your ready stance.”

So Maki does. It’s not entirely bad, he supposes, to the  untrained eye; but to him, it’s...kind of a trainwreck. First off, her elbows are locked -- is she trying to get her arms snapped like a toothpick? Second, her ankles are both pointing in the same direction, which is just -- no. Zero range of motion or stability. Her shoulders are rigid like concrete while her knees are bent like jelly, and she’s holding her neck so stiff that she looks like a scarecrow.

He gets the feeling that a soft touch wouldn’t bode well with her, which is good for him, because he has no clue how to even do that. Tough love it is. He can pull that off just fine.

So he reaches over in a swift motion and shoves her off-balance with a single finger. She topples like a house of cards. “See? You fell over.”

Maki scowls and pushes back to her feet, brushing off the dust bunnies and other dubious substances from the concrete off her skirt. “What was I doing wrong?” she huffs -- not with a voice as if she’s trying to defend herself, but rather like she genuinely wants to learn.

And that’s what gets him. She does want to learn, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s bothered to teach her. Everything she knows, she probably had to teach herself, had to respond to words of advice that were given to someone else. Is that why she’d seemed so bitter about the family she grew up with during their first conversation? Because they hadn’t bothered to give any time to a kid without cursed energy, or maybe they’d thought she was worthless without an innate technique, or told her it was impossible for her to be strong without any jujutsu?

Man, what kind of assholes would cast someone aside for something like that?

And so he does his best to right their wrongs. He has her resume her stance, and he carefully points out every area of improvement in a tone he hopes sounds encouraging without being patronizing. He strikes his own stance again and tries to lead by example, tries his best to explain what to him has become second nature, and even though he stumbles over his words, she keeps her snarky comments to a relative minimum.

He’s not gonna win any ‘teacher of the year’ awards, but he’s not... totally terrible at this. Maybe it’s because they’re so alike that she already speaks his weird language. In fact, this is actually going fairly well -- but since Toji is who he is, he has to open his big fat mouth and mess everything up.

Before he can stop himself, he asks out of the blue, “Hey, do you remember me at all?”

“Uh, from when we met three days ago?” she says, not peeling her eyes away from her disjointed reflection in the fractals of the cracked mirror.  “Duh.”

“No, ya little pest. I’m talking about--y’know.” Toji swallows thickly. “From when you were younger.”

“Why would I?” she replies, but there’s something almost sad about the way she says it. He supposes she wouldn't remember him if he’d left her life when she was still a baby, but the answer still stings in a way he can’t quite put into words. “You’re not even right about what you think I am, so I don’t think you remember me, either.”

Man, she won’t even say it? Now that really stings. It’s not like he was expecting the child he left behind to leap into his open arms, but still. “No, I--I do,” he says hesitantly, as if it’s a question -- then he conjures up the memory, the only one he has. He thinks of the rain on the window, the ambient sounds of the hospital. He thinks of cradling his precious baby in his arms, how that child was the most divine blessing the heavens, in all their immortal glory, could possibly weave together. Then he repeats with resolution, “I do.”

Maki doesn’t reply to that, but she scans his face like she’s looking for something Toji’s not sure if she finds. “Let’s just…continue from where we left off.”

Toji sighs, but complies with her request. She gets the ready stance down surprisingly quick, so they move on to some of the basics: proper form for powerful kicks and punches, how to shift your weight in an instant and keep your motions fluid, how to use your body language to deceptively lead your opponent right where you want them and into your next attack. 

It’s far more information than she can process in a day, but she’s eager, and Toji knows she can handle a bit of homework. She hangs onto his every word as if she truly believes that each one is important, which is equal parts wonderful and terrifying; because holy shit, his daughter is actually listening to him, but he’s also talking out his ass half the time.

Finally, she wears him down and convinces him to quick spar, just so she can practice what she’s learning against an actual person and not just her own reflection. He lets her lead, lets her watch how he responds to each of her attacks. Her movements steadily get sharper, more confident. He can almost see the gears churning behind her eyes as the two of them fight, analyzing even the tiniest of muscle movements so that no action is wasted and every motion is with full intent. She’s able to mirror some of his actions he hadn’t even put into words and make them her own.

There’s only one way to put it. She’s incredible. Pride swells in his chest, because fuck, she’s just like him, and for the first time, he kind of doesn’t hate himself.

He tries to throw in a word of advice here and there, when it seems like she needs a push in the right direction beyond just physically. He tries to remember some of the shit he said earlier, how he’d told her that every line of action needed absolute stability, so he shouts, “Stop!” right when she’s about to punch him -- and so she freezes.

Maki is so close; she’s almost got it, but Toji doesn’t miss how her hip is just barely misaligned with her ankle from the way she’s bending her knees, so before she’s able to realize it and correct herself, he tips her right over.

She shoves back to her feet, visibly annoyed; but not at him, and more at herself. “Again,” she demands, and Toji grins like a coyote.

“You got it, kid.”

When Maki finally tires herself out, it’s long past sundown, but the dim light of dusk hasn’t quite yet succumbed to the velvety blackness of nighttime. Toji offers to walk her home, but she insists against it. They agree to train together again in another three days, and it’s a sweeter victory than any other he’s won in his life, and he can’t even remember most of it. He trudges back to his own apartment and flops onto his couch face-first, without even bothering to take off his shoes.

He’s sore, stupidly sore, but not the type that tugs at his muscles -- this one settles into his bones, digs deep into his marrow, courses through his blood. It’s a good kind of sore, though, the one he recognizes because this type of pain is always the worst right before he gets a whole lot stronger.

One thing is for sure: yeah, he wants a kid in his life. This kid, specifically. He doesn’t have a goddamn clue how to be a father, but this feeling is enough to eclipse each of his three previous certainties a dozen times over.

Alright. So if he’s gonna do this whole ‘ dad’ thing, he figures he’s gotta learn some of the basics before he sees Maki again. He goes to an internet cafe to do some background reading -- yeah, so what if he doesn’t have his own computer? Those things are for kids. He’s pretty sure the old lady next to him is glaring through his skull when he types “how to parent,” into the search engine, but whatever. He presses ‘enter’ and--fucking hell, over a billion results? Yeah, he’s not reading that. He clicks through a few of the top articles, but they’re peppered with empty platitudes like “don’t clip your child’s wings” and “catch your kids being good.” What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Pick your battles,” one article read. Uh, all of them? He’s literally teaching her how to fight.

As he thought, the internet is useless; but that leaves him at a total loss for where to go next. The only person he interacts with on a semi-regular basis is Yuki, and she’d likely be just as clueless as him. Damn. He’s just gonna have to do this the same way he does everything else in his life: with zero context, and by the skin of his teeth. 

...but that doesn’t go terribly well either, because before he knows it, two days have already passed and he’s seeing Maki again tomorrow, with no more insight on how to be a father than the last time they met. He actually has a job today, and he doubts beating up a bunch of lowlife smugglers in a shitty warehouse is going to offer any enlightenment. He mulls it over between one mundane punch to the next, as ribs crunch like porcelain against his knuckles and limbs crack like glass against his knees. A bullet sizzles in his hand when he seizes it midair, and the split-second dumbfounded shock that stamps across his attacker’s face holds just long enough for Toji to get a real stupid idea.

Yeah, he’s gonna have to jot this one down in his top-ten list of terrible decisions. He feels like he’s constantly out-doing himself with that one.

He blasts off the concrete and it pulverizes into black glitter, choking the air with asphalt dust. He jerks the pistol out of the smuggler’s grasp and crunches the barrel as if it were nothing more than paper, with only his bare hands. He grabs a fistful of the man’s grimy shirt and yanks him by the collar, close enough to see the whites of his eyes pixilate into little bloodshot wires of red. 

“Hey,” Toji says casually. “You got any kids?”

The man heaves out a labored breath, wheezing as his bruised and feeble hands struggle against Toji’s iron grasp. Toji rolls his eyes histrionically, hoping the exaggerated motion makes him look as bored as he feels. Eventually, the smuggler surrenders and stops struggling -- smart man -- and his grip slackens against Toji’s forearm, before his hands fall limply to his sides.

“Yes. One,” the man croaks. “A daughter. She’s thirteen.”

Toji pauses. “Oh hey, I’ve got a girl too. She’s six though.” He squints in contemplation. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Oi, watch yourself. Are you in any position to be judgin’ me right now?” Toji shakes the man half-heartedly, earning him a pathetic half-aborted whimper that chokes off into a groan. “Anyways, that’s perfect, cuz I got a question for ya. You got any idea what to do to connect with your kid?”

The man’s jaw drops as much as his skull will allow -- which is to say, not very. There’s a thin line of saliva trickling down his chin that’s tinged a faint shade of pink from the blood in his mouth. “Are you going to kill me?”

Nah, but he doesn’t need to know that yet. “Depends. You wanna answer my question?”

“You don’t have anyone better to ask?!”

“Quit testin’ me!”

The man sputters as his oxygen-deprived brain wracks to form a response. “I--I don’t know, just--” He wriggles again, but Toji glares at him, and that’s the end of that. “Find out her hobbies, learn what she likes? Take interest in what makes her happy, to show her that you care?”

Toji blinks. “That’s actually pretty good advice,” he replies, and he gives the man a sugary-sweet toothy grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks.” And then he knocks his lights out.

He drops the man’s fainted form into a crumpled heap at his feet. He begins to scuffle out of the old warehouse to treat himself to a drink for a job well done -- until the voice of a smuggler Toji fought earlier, who seems to have so rudely decided to regain consciousness, stops him in his tracks. 

“Not gonna finish the job?” the man mocks, with a disturbingly wet laugh that reminds Toji he yanked out at least four of this guy’s teeth.

“Nah,” Toji replies as he saunters over to him, before stomping on his face with the heel of his steel-toed boot. “He’s got a kid to go home to.”

It may have come from a comedically dubious source, but Toji tries to take the advice to heart when he sees Maki the next morning. During their water break between kicking practice and their first spar of the day, Toji asks, “Oi, Maki. What are your hobbies?”

“Hobbies?” Maki repeats with a sour face. Come on, it wasn’t that weird of a question. “Fighting. Proving myself. And getting stronger.”

Toji can’t help but smirk at that. Fuck, she’s so goddamn precious. Although, he hopes her extracurricular activities aren’t anything like his, which are gambling and--well. He can’t exactly talk about that in polite company. “No, seriously. You got any kid hobbies? Y’know, normal ones for a six-year-old?”

“I’m not six,” she nips, straightening out her back to make her look taller than she really is. Cute. “I turn seven next Sunday.”

“News flash kiddo, that means you’re still six.” And then the weight of her words drops onto his chest like an anvil. His daughter’s birthday. Not exactly surprising that he wouldn’t remember when it was, but it still makes him feel like he’s been drenched in slime. “Damn, your birthday, huh? You gonna do anything to celebrate?”

“Of course not,” she snaps. “That sort of thing is meaningless.” But her voice is far too bitter to sound at all sincere.

Frowning, “Well, that’s a little sad. Every kid should get to enjoy their birthday.”

“Not in my family I can’t.”

The words smack him like a slap in the face, and he can barely blink away the white-hot anger that shorts out his vision. Fucking hell, what are they doing to his girl? “Uh,” is all he can manage, because he’s pretty sure any arguing with that would cause her to storm out, and he can’t let that happen; especially not now, knowing this. “Next Sunday. So...in four days?”

Maki gives him a weird look. “I said next Sunday, so it’s in eight days, genius. What day do you even think it is?”

Shit. Toji knits his brows. “Uh...Wednesday?”

Maki just snorts in response. Welp, whatever day it actually is, that was clearly the wrong answer. Eh, this is fine. Her opinion of him probably can’t get any lower than it already is. “Anyways, you gonna answer my earlier question, or do I have to be a pest about it again?”

“You’re always a pest.”

“Yeah, right back at ya.”

Maki looks away, gaze downcast. “My family wants me to be prim and proper, and practice fancy things like traditional dance and calligraphy,” she spits. “But I hate that stuff. I like bad action movies and playing in the mud. And climbing trees.” Her face falls even further, until all that’s left is a blank, awful nothing. “Or at least...I think I like climbing trees. I never get to do it for very long. My cousin likes to kick the branches until my parents find out and yell at me.”

He can almost picture it: his little girl stuck in a tree with some faceless monster kicking at the bark as he cackles like a hyena, and Toji can barely gulp down the acrid tang of bile that claws up his windpipe. For the first time since he can remember, Toji feels real, genuine rage, and the only thing he can even compare it to is the feeling of a chunk of his torso being blasted off by the boy with white hair. How dare those fucking demons call themselves her parents? And whoever the hell that cousin is, Toji’s gonna kill him, and he honestly doesn’t think he’s kidding himself with that one.

Still, this is the most she’s ever shared about her life with him, and he can’t risk her not trusting him enough to do it again. “Those are cool hobbies,” Toji replies, even if his voice is a little hoarse when he finally finds it. “I like that stuff too.”

But he knows just agreeing with her isn’t going to cut it, and he doesn’t need any parenting article or -- fuck, illegal smuggler, really? -- to tell him that much. So four days later, under a pastel-painted dawn as the sun wakes from its evening slumber, Toji empties his pockets at a convenience store to buy supplies for the day; and he gets to the building a full two hours early, just to rub it in her face when she arrives with only an hour and a half to spare. 

She seems to sense immediately that something is off, because her tiny features are etched into a scowl well before she reaches the door. “What’s with you?” she blurts out. Nice, real subtle. “Why are you here so early? And why aren’t you inside?” She points towards the item in his hands. “And what the heck is that?”

“Curious today, aren’t ya?” he snorts. He reaches out a hand to ruffle her hair, but she darts away before he can. Damn, when did her reflexes get so sharp? “Is it not enough just to annoy you?”

It’s only a half-lie, but Maki sees through the part of it that is. She points again at what he’s holding. “Is that a freaking picnic basket?”

“No,” Toji scoffs. That is what the tag on it said when he bought it, but whatever. “This was just the most practical method of carrying food, ya little brat. We’re going on a field trip.”

“A field trip?” she parrots, but now she looks more befuddled than bothered. “Where?”

“Patience, kid. You’ll see.”

And there’s another thing they have in common: not a single shred of goddamn patience. “Where are we going?” she pesters as she pads after him. He increases the speed of his gait until her tiny legs can barely keep up -- barely. He’s pretty amused by it, until she reaches out and tugs on one of his pant legs to slow him down, and Toji’s heart nearly explodes right then and there.

Alright, fuck it. Dad-mode engaged. Toji plops down the -- the food-carrying case -- and lifts her up onto his shoulders, much to her initial disdain. As soon as she’s somewhat settled, she kicks insistently at his chest. “Hey, put me down!” she demands, but there’s no heat behind it. Her fingers clutch his sweater a little more tightly than she probably needs to in order to hang on, but Toji’s too giddy to care.

“Nah, no way. You’re too damn slow.” He pats one of her knees and she kicks at his hand, so he grabs her foot and she yelps. He picks up the -- it’s not a picnic basket, he swears -- and starts moving again. “We’re almost there, so cool it.”

When they finally arrive at the nearby park, Toji plops her down in front of the old oak that lies at its center. It’s tall enough that it can only be described as majestic, the kind of evergreen that makes Toji understand why people compare the ancient ones to a sage that is old and wise. Its leaves brush the skies from a tessellation of branches, crosshatching between one another in a maze of damp wood and chlorophyll. “No fighting today,” Toji tells her softly. “Today, we’re climbin’ trees.”

“Climbing trees?” Maki repeats. Her expression is unreadable, and Toji doesn’t try to decipher it. There’s something in it that’s both hopeful and pained, and it makes his insides twist like a wrung towel.

“Yeah, climbing trees. It’s a different kind of training. Y’know, strength and dexterity, and shit like that. Don’t question your sensei.”

“Ew, don’t call yourself that.”

Toji’s got no comeback ready for that, so he reaches into his not-a-picnic-basket and bonks her head with an apple in response. She hucks it back at him only for him to snatch it out of the air with lightning-fast reflexes, taking a juicy bite when he does it.

“Thanks, kid.”

She huffs and turns away, but not quick enough to hide the reluctant smirk that tugs at her face.

He doesn’t need to ask twice. Maki stares at the oak for about another half-second before darting towards it, her eyes already mapping out the ideal path to reach the top. She hops onto the lowest branch with a peppy spring in her step, but Toji can tell she’s trying to suppress her excitement. Not much makes Toji sad, but that kind of guts him.

Toji follows soon after. He surveys the plant with a lot less glee than she did, but he’ll be damned if he’s not gonna try to create his first happy memory with his daughter. He tries to follow in her footsteps, gingerly examining each branch before he shoves onto the flaky bark. When he finally looks up at his kid, Maki’s eyes are gleaming with mischief.

“You kinda suck at this.”

Toji gasps in mock offense. “Oi, I’m tryin’ my best!”

“Your best totally sucks,” she replies, the corners of her mouth lifting. 

Jesus, this kid is gonna turn his hair gray. His looks are one of the only things he’s got going for him. He’s nowhere near humble enough to deny that.

She’s still staring at him like she’s about to crack up, and Toji puffs out his chest in something that isn’t quite annoyance. Fine, she’s asking for it. He can show off a bit. Just to really rub it in her face, he closes his eyes, swings onto the nearest branch to gather momentum, and flips up to her location in less than a fraction of a second. He sticks the landing, ten out of ten, and makes sure to dip into a particularly cocky bow once he hops up another meter above her.

“Hey! No fair!” she cries out, but -- is that a smile? She scrambles to her feet and knits her brows towards the branch he’s standing on, swings back her arms, and jumps.

...and just barely misses. He’s only able to see the split-second flash of panic across her expression before she starts to fall from the tree. 

So Toji dives after her, without a shred of hesitation behind it. All he can think of is that fear across her face, the shred of vulnerability, and he can barely process how much he never wants to see it again before she’s wrapped into his arms, he flips their positions, and he lands back-first onto the ground with a dull thud.

“Ow, kid,” Toji huffs out breathlessly. He’s grateful now that what Yuki said was his -- what was that term again? Holy restriction? -- makes him too tough to put a real dent in him. “Be careful. I’m not as young as I look.”

“You don’t look that young,” she replies, but there’s hesitation in her voice. Damn, ouch. That one hits him right in the appearance complex. “How old even are you?”

Uh. Toji contemplates for a moment before responding. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?” she repeats. “Have I ever told you that you’re a real weirdo?”

Toji snorts. “Yeah, once or twice.”

Maki squirms, so Toji releases her, and he reaches out a hand to pull them both to their feet --- and surprisingly, she actually takes it. “I would have been fine,” she breathes in a small voice. “If you didn’t catch me.”

Casually, Toji cracks his back, and it sounds like a little kid popping bubble wrap. Christ, that can’t be good. He shrugs. “Probably.”

“So why did you?”

Toji taps his chin in contemplation. He’s not quite sure what compelled him to do it, only that his body wouldn’t have let him do anything else. “I dunno,” he repeats.

She sighs. “Weirdo.” But she says it with more vacillation than bite, less with sarcasm and more like she’s genuinely confused.

Toji exhales through his nostrils too. I’ll always be there to catch you is too cheesy, and something like that would be totally lost on her. So instead he says, “Don’t ya worry, kiddo. I’m gonna teach you never to fall again.”

Surprised, Maki’s breath hitches. “Can we-- can we go back up?”

“You sure?”

“Of course!” Maki responds. “Why would I quit just because I mess something up on my first try?”

God, he’s so fucking proud of her. She zips back towards the tree and immediately pounces onto a branch higher than the one she’d started out with last time, and Toji pads after her. She climbs back up with determination and eagerness, and Toji could almost swear that she’s having... fun.

Although, he’s gotta wonder what the hell the appeal is in this; there are splinters in his hands and at least four ants have crawled up his shirt, pointy leaves keep poking at his cheeks and he’s pretty sure there’s dirt on his--uh. But Maki’s climbing up like a little monkey, and he calls this up to her; then she shoots back, “And you look like a sloth!”

Oh, it is so on. “Hey, get back here, ya little shit!” So he climbs after her as she giggles while ascending higher. And that laugh -- it’s real, not filled with any deviousness or snark, ringing with honesty and innocence. When they finally reach the top, Maki’s eyes widen owlishly as they take in the birds’-eye view of the whole city.

Her face twinkles with childlike wonder, and for the first time since he found her at the weapons shop, she truly looks like a kid, just a kid, not a child soldier with something to prove. There’s always that determination to act older than her age; probably because she had to. But now the castle walls are crumbling before him as if they were only milk and cookies, as she kicks her little feet absentmindedly while gazing at the way the sunlight hits the leaves, casting transparent green shadows on her palms as she turns them over.

...okay, Toji can see the appeal in this.

Maki’s got a smudge of dirt on her face. Wiping it off might annoy her, so instead he smears more on. She scrapes some damp wood from the branch to smear it right back, but she can’t reach his cheeks with her tiny arms from where she’s sitting, so instead she wipes it on his sweater. They both crack up at that, then go back to staring off into the horizon. 

Toji loses track of time up there. It could be hours, but he can’t bring himself to care. This is too damn perfect. “Still don’t wanna do anything for your birthday?” he finally says in a soft voice.

Shaking her head, “No,” Maki responds. “The best thing would be to get out of the house, since no one will even remember.”

A swell of hope inflates in his chest so quickly that he almost chokes on it. “Why don't we train together or something?” he suggests. “I’ll keep your mind off of it.”

Maki nods slowly. “Okay.”

They sit in silence for the rest of their time in the treetop, watching the sherbert-colored dawn drag up the clouds from the far-off mountains like a layer of icing. Rays of light fan out from the sun as it claims its rightful place in the sky, illuminating the rooftops with a warm light that filters through the leaves of the tree in splotches of sunshine.

“Whoa,” Maki breathes, her golden eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“Yeah,” Toji murmurs, but the view isn’t what makes him smile back. He glances at her out of the corners of his eyes. “Super awesome.”

A few days later, it’s finally her birthday. Toji thought at first that he might honor her request of ignoring it entirely, but he just can’t bring himself to do that, so he decides against it maybe five minutes later. He gathers up the supplies he needs with his meager stack of remaining cash, then he crashes in the old building an entire night beforehand and attempts to sleep in the corner. He does, but poorly. Sleeping on concrete? Zero out of ten. 

He just hopes it’ll be worth it.

When she arrives to their training session, Toji’s sitting in the middle of the floor with a slice of chocolate cake, a rollaway TV he found in a junkyard, and a pile of the cheesiest action movies he could find at the only DVD rental shop that’s somehow still in business-- Toji’s pretty sure it’s a front for something, but whatever. He had to make do with what he could find. And afford.

And Maki just--she petrifies, like she’s just stared at Medusa and turned into stone.

“Shit,” Toji curses. “Sorry, I know this is kinda pathetic, but--”

Maki cuts him off before he can finish. Fuck, is she shaking? “No, this is--'' He can’t even describe that look on her face. Happy? Terrified? “This is fine." 

“Uh, alright,” Toji replies. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

They share the cake in silence as they make their way through a couple of movies, and once they finish to resume their training, Maki doesn’t give him any snark all day.

Chapter Text

---please read beginning author’s note----

A few weeks pass after Maki’s birthday, and they settle into some strange sense of normalcy. They’ve got a schedule now, showing up at the old gray building every four days. Their banter gets smoother, more equal; she doesn’t make jabs at him as much, at least, not ones he can’t return. He still keeps up his shitty jobs, and his daughter still leaves him after every training session for a fake family who doesn’t care about her, but sometimes he almost feels what one could call... happy. 

The feeling is foreign, but far from unwelcome. Still, Toji’s got a weird premonition that admitting some part of him is happy will take it all away, and he stews in disquietude for a solid three days before he finally decides to do something about it.

Toji’s got some tough questions, and there’s only one person that can give him answers. He fishes out his hilariously ancient flip phone, given to him by someone he kind of regrets giving his number to, seeing as she sends him cat videos at 5 AM at least once a week. He punches in her number and puts the call on speakerphone.

“Oh? You’re actually calling me first?” Yuki snorts. “We better write down the date.”

“Ah, what day is it again?” Toji says in lieu of a greeting, and he scratches his head. “September 17th?”

“Toji, it’s February.”

Eh, close enough. “Whatever. You wanna grab drinks tomorrow or something? I got a pretty big question for ya.”

“Sure,” Yuki replies, and somewhere between the third and fourth time he held her hair back as she threw up in a dumpster after a night of drinking they must’ve gone from researcher-and-subject to friends, because it’s only after she agrees that she asks, “Is it something bad?”

“Too tough to explain over the phone.” Or rather, he’s too lazy to try. “That old bar with the retro music by your place. 8 PM. See ya tomorrow?”

Even over the phone, Toji can hear the smile in her voice. “You got it, big guy.” Then she hangs up the call.

The next evening, Toji hops on the train to head over to Yuki’s town. Her place is pretty far from his; unsurprisingly, no thanks to the difference in salary between a special-grade sorcerer and--whatever the hell he is. He got a bit side-tracked on his way over to the bar, so he’s almost an hour late -- in his defense, he was this close to striking it big at the pachinko parlor today! -- but she must be used to that, because it seems like she just got here, too. It’s just like her to already account for his abysmal punctuality. Smart woman.

When he walks up to the bar, Yuki tosses him a lazy smile and a wave. “Hey, hot stuff.”

“‘Sup, gorgeous?”

They do this a lot, this sort of half-flirting Toji doesn’t know if it's for real or not. He likes spending time with Yuki. She’s warm in her own brash way and she doesn’t do bullshit; which is refreshing, because sometimes it feels like bullshit is all he ever does.

In mock analysis, Yuki stares at him. “Let me guess. Horse races today?”

“Ooh, so close. Pachinko.”

“Alright, let me guess again. Drinks are on me, aren’t they?”

Toji slides into the barstool next to her and pats his now-empty pockets. “Ya got me there.”

Yuki barks out a laugh and flags down the bartender. When they’re together, he usually lets her order for him. She’s got a better handle on all the good stuff, and well--alcohol is alcohol, right? 

“So what’s new with you?” she asks as the bartender sets two glasses and a bottle in front of her. She picks the bottle up and pours them each a drink without even looking.

Well, he has a kid now and his life is no longer meaningless, but he’ll get to that in a minute. “What’s new with you?” he returns.

“Just got back from Geneva,” she tells him, and yeah, Toji doesn’t even know where that is. Canada, maybe? “Met a few people there with interesting ideas about the origins of cursed energy, but nothing worth writing home about. At least the chocolate was good.” She slaps a bar of chocolate onto the counter. “For you, handsome.”

Heh. Toji can’t help but smirk at that. “Got me a souvenir, huh? Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about me while you were away?”

She punches him in the arm playfully. “Not a chance, jackass. I had extra,” she says, but with a mischievous cadence to her voice that makes Toji jab her in the shoulder back. They both crack up at that, and knock back a very long sip of their drinks in perfect sync. 

“Oi. We ever hang out like this back before--” Toji makes a vaguely circling gesture around the alphabet soup that is now his brain. “Y’know.”

“Nah,” Yuki replies. “I told ya, you always blew me off.”

“Well, I was missin’ out.”

“Oh stop it, you smooth-talker. I’m swooning over here.”

Uh, Toji wasn’t really kidding, but he laughs anyway. “Hey, Yuki,” he starts, and there’s really no delicate way to ask this, is there? “Did you know I have a kid?”

Yuki furrows her brows. “I’d heard about it,” she begins. “But the Zen’in clan keeps a tight lid on their secrets, especially from someone like me. Still, I got my ways.” Yuki throws him a wink. “I figured your kid might be out there, but not much beyond that. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I think I found her,” Toji states, and then-- “Wait, the who clan?”

Yuki pales. “Oh, shit.”

One thing he’s learned about her: Yuki is a talkative drunk. Although, tonight she hasn’t had very much to--wait, is this tequila? Okay, never mind.

“You wanna back up there a little bit?” he chuckles.

Sighing, “The Zen’in clan is--where you came from,” she explains, and fuck, Toji doesn’t think he’s ready for this. “They’re one of the three great sorcerer clans, boasting immense power, influence, and resources.”

“Ooh, resources?” Toji giggles. “Lucky me. Guess I better run home to take some of those resources with me to the casino.”

“Slow down, tiger. You weren’t exactly popular with them,” she replies, looking like she really doesn’t know if she should be saying any of this, but continues anyways. “You know how everyone else in the world has cursed energy except you? Yeah, they weren’t really a fan of that, especially when you turned out stronger than any of their best sorcerers after they’d already cast you aside.”

Toji laughs into his drink. “Now why am I not surprised?”

But Yuki just frowns in response. “This is why I told you to lay low, Toji. A lot of people would want you dead again if they knew you were alive and kickin’, and the Zen’in clan is only the tip of the iceberg. There are a hell of a lot of others, especially...the man that did this to you in the first place.” Yuki rubs her temples, but Toji would be willing to bet his last stack of cash that his headache is worse than hers right now. “You know, I’d intended to start working with him right before I saved you, but I’ve had to keep a real distance from him this past year and a half. I like to think I can be hard to read--” and Toji highly doubts that, “--but those eyes of his could see right through me.”

“Hang on,” Toji says, and he holds up a hand as if to stop both of their trains of thought. There isn’t nearly enough alcohol in his system right now for this. “You know him?”

“Not well,” Yuki sighs, “but yes.”

Toji almost laughs. It’s meaningless information for someone who has zero context of the world around him, but he still can’t stop himself from asking, “What’s his name?”

“His name?” Yuki repeats. “Ruler of the Unlimited Void domain, heir to one of the three great sorcerer clans, wielder of both the Six-Eyes and Limitless jujutsu techniques, Special-Grade sorcerer Satoru Gojo.”

He feels like hearing that should stir up some deep hatred trapped inside him, but all it does is make the stitches on his arm and side itch a little more than usual. Toji sighs, and he whistles through his teeth. “That’s a long fuckin’ name.”

“Hah!” Yuki barks out a laugh. “I guess. You know, in another life, I bet you two would’ve been the best of friends.”

“With a cocky bastard like that?” Toji snorts. “No way in hell.”

She smiles and swirls her drink against the countertop, the nearly-melted ice clinking against the sides of the glass. After another minute of silence, she speaks up again. “So...you think you found your daughter?”

“Yeah,” he tells her. “Her name is Maki, and she’s a goddamn angel.”

Yuki chuckles and waggles a finger. “I always knew you were a softie.”

“Oi, watch it.”

“You’re not even denying it!”

“It wasn’t worth denying!” Toji shoots back, but he’s laughing when he does it. “She’s a lot like me. Almost no cursed energy, in comparison to my none. You know anything about that?”

“Come to think of it, I did hear of a child in the Zen’in clan who was similar to you.” She taps her chin in contemplation. “It’s not... entirely impossible.”

That does little more to confirm what Toji already was sure of in the first place, but it’s still sort of comforting. “Yeah, ‘course it isn’t impossible,” Toji replies. “Knew it the second I saw her. We’ve been trainin’ together, but that’s pretty much it so far.” Well, unless you count the tree-climbing and the birthday thing, but he’d gotten her to agree to both of those under the guise of training, too. “I don't think she hates me, but I don't think she believes me, either.”

“Well, she’s probably been told something different her whole life. She’ll come around,” Yuki says, and Toji truly, truly hopes that she will. 

Toji shifts in his seat and drains his glass. It clinks against the granite with a hollow thunk. “Oi, Yuki. One more thing,” he says, and he only figures out that he doesn’t want to know the answer to this question until after it leaves his tongue. “You know anything about Maki’s mom?”

The grin slips off Yuki’s face, and she shifts her gaze back to the drinks lining the shelves of the bar, swallowing thickly.

The silence speaks the words Yuki clearly can’t bring herself to say. Toji breaks it first.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Yuki gulps. “Yeah.”

For a while, Toji waits for the understanding to hit him like some sort of twisted epiphany, but the vacuum in his chest stays exactly the same. Instead, a bitter smile twitches at his lips, and he forces out a laugh that feels as hollow as he does. “Why did I know you were gonna say that?” he wavers. “Why did I already know you were gonna tell me that my wife is dead? Is the cruelty of the universe that fuckin’ predictable?”

Yuki meets his eyes again, expression heavy with sympathy. “Toji, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?” he croaks. “There’s nothing to even be sorry for.”

Dubious, Yuki’s brows knit with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? ‘Course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Distantly, he can hear the crazed edge to his voice that lacerates the air like a razor blade, his empty laugh tolling like a church bell at a funeral. Melancholy. Mournful. “I don’t know anything about her. I can’t even remember what she looks like. I don’t remember her name, or her birthday, or what dress she was wearin’ on the day of our wedding, so why wouldn’t I be okay?” He wraps a hand around his glass and squeezes it until it cracks, glass slicing at his fingers until he feels himself bleed. “After all, what can a man with nothing left even lose?”

“Toji, you--you don’t know nothing about her,” Yuki whispers. “Just listen to yourself. You called her your wife, right? I never told you that you two were married.”

Toji’s breath hitches. “I-- fuck,” he curses, scrubbing his hands over his tired features. He digs his nails into his thigh to drag himself back to reality by force. “Sorry, Yuki. Gimme a minute.”

“The hell are you apologizing for?” she says softly. “Take your time, Toji. I’m right here.”

Toji isn’t sure he deserves that kindness, but he doesn’t have nearly enough strength to argue. He waits for the roar in his brain to dull back to the white-noise television static that usually drowns out his thoughts. He doesn’t have five heightened senses for nothing, so he tries to use them to ground himself. He hones in on the ambient sounds of chatter between the customers in the bar. His tongue tastes heavy with alcohol and the air is tainted with the tang of copper. Something in the kitchen behind the bar smells like it’s just about to burn. He’s got one hand on his sweaty face and the other against his worn-out jeans, and when he opens up his eyes and blinks the blurriness out of his gaze, he discovers that Yuki has unwrapped the bar of chocolate and pushed it in front of him.

That’s actually kinda sweet. He manages a smile at that. 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” she offers.

He’s not the one who’s hammered after a single glass. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“We’re pretty far from your place,” she notes. “You wanna just crash on my couch or something?”

Wouldn’t be the first time. “Yeah, yeah, fine.”

Yuki ditches her motorcycle at the bar -- she’ll pick it up tomorrow, she swears -- and they call a cab back to her place. Upon arriving, Yuki gives him a drunken wave and a slurred goodnight then stumbles back into her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Toji topples back onto the couch in the living room.

He flops an arm over his face and lets his swimming thoughts drown him, grabbing a hold of his ankles and pulling him into the undertow. In the frigid depths of the water he opens his eyes, and unsurprisingly, he’s in the hospital again.

Toji, you’re spacing out again, the woman says. What should we name our baby?

There isn’t a face to the voice, just a feeling. He loved her, he knows he did. He wonders if he wept over her gravestone, or if he couldn’t bring himself to go to the funeral at all. He wouldn’t put it past himself. He’s always been a coward. In the dark he tries to picture what she looked like, cursing his stupid brain and wishing he could claw the memories out by force. 

It’s a strange sensation, being told about his own life as if he were an outsider, like a parent reciting a story to a child who can’t yet read. It’s a distant, detached feeling, as he fills in his own life experiences with a stunted imagination. 

Toji, you’re spacing out again.

He wants to remember her, but there’s a small sliver of himself he hates to his guts that hopes he never does. The Zen’in clan would just be the tip of the iceberg, Yuki said. Fuck, who the hell was he in his past life to make that many people hate him? How long would he even have the chance to enjoy the happy memories before the dark truths poured into his consciousness like spilled ink and stained everything black?

Toji stumbles to the bathroom to splash his face with icy water, but makes the mistake of looking in the mirror.

His reflection glares at him with crimson smeared on his face and a maniacal grin across his mouth, banging his fist against the other side of the mirror until Toji swears he can hear it crack. You already know what you are, his reflection whispers with a bloodsoaked smile. You don’t need any memories to know that, do you?

Fuck, maybe he’s drunker than he thought he was. He drags his feet back to the couch and flops back down.

Toji, you’re spacing out again.

Yeah, he really is spacing out, isn’t he? He wonders what she’d think if she could see him now. Just a man who lives to cause pain to others, who had the audacity to get himself killed and leave their daughter behind. Maybe Yuki shouldn’t have saved him. He knows he deserves a slap across the face, if he thought he’d be going to the same place she went when he finally kicks the bucket.

Toji, you’re spacing out again. 

What should we name our baby?

“Maki,” he replies into the darkness. “We should name her Maki.”

Two days later, he meets up with Maki again. Toji knows he’s being weirdly quiet, and if Maki notices, she doesn’t comment; which is kinda surprising, since she usually doesn’t miss a chance to poke fun at him. He enjoys every second of that, and he’s beginning to think that she does, too.

How the hell is he even supposed to tell her something like this? ‘Hey, kid. I know we just met like a month ago and you don’t even believe I’m your real father, but I just wanted to let you know that your mom is dead.’ How could he burden her with that?

He wishes he knew if Maki looked anything like her.

So instead, he casts aside the wooden sword he’s using for practice today, and it clatters against the concrete with a reverberant crack. Maki turns her head to face him.

“Oi, Maki,” he starts, and he loves that he even has to ask this, “you got any weapons on you right now?”

Maki narrows her eyes suspiciously. “I might be hiding a knife in my skirt.”

God, he’d do anything for her. “Awesome. Hey, don’t stab me for this.”

“Huh? What are you--” But she immediately cuts herself off when Toji crouches in front of her, wraps one hand behind her back and the other behind her tiny head, and draws her into a hug.

Maki freezes. She freezes, but she doesn’t push him away, so Toji pulls her closer. It’s a hug so tight with emotion it’s painful, cutting right through the loss and the sorrow and pushing back the curtains behind his empty heart. It fills the ever-constant hollowness in his chest with a warmth so bright it’s overflowing, spreading throughout the nexus of his veins like wildfire. He holds her for a long time like that, in silence without solitude, smooth and soothing like blue champagne. 

He could’ve stayed in that moment forever, but Maki starts to tremble, so Toji lets go.

“Thanks,” he says as he shoves back to his feet. He ruffles her hair, and she doesn’t even try to stop him.

“For--for what?” Maki stutters.

“For not stabbing me,” Toji answers, but they both know it isn’t that. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get back to training.”

-----------------------

Ever since she ran into Toji at the weapons shop, Maki’s life has gotten really freakin’ strange.

For one, he’s patient with her, even if he barely knows how to show it. His words of encouragement are stumbling at best; but they’re there, directed at her, and she’s never heard anything like that from anyone else in her life. He’s not very bright, and he doesn’t really try to hide it. But there are other things he tries at, really hard. Chocolate is her favorite flavor of cake, and she wonders how the heck he knew that without her even telling him.

She could almost say he’s... caring, in his own gruff way, and it makes her question everything she’s ever known. She’s been called every insult in the dictionary and then some. 

But Toji calls her his daughter. Maki’s beginning to think he truly believes that, but she can’t say she feels the same way.

Still, she’s not stupid enough to rule out the possibility that he’s a Zen’in. They really are strikingly alike, and he almost seems like he would’ve looked a bit like her cousin Naoya when he was younger; well, at least before her cousin hit his teenage years and decided to go emo, bleach his hair, and start wearing eyeliner. 

What a jerk.

She’s not allowed in the Zen’in family archives, and the one time she tried she felt it over the next four days. She only has one source that might listen to her questions, and it’s a long shot at best. She heads to the main training room in the left wing of the Zen’in compound.

“Father,” she says, and he looks up at her like the word disgusts him, and all Maki can think is how it’s everything Toji would ever want to hear. Naoya is tucked into the corner of the room in his training attire, looking bored with the whole world. He doesn’t make any movement to acknowledge her when she slips into the room, and she genuinely wouldn’t put it past him to not notice her at all.

“What do you want, child?” her father spits, like giving her even a second of his time is far more than she deserves. 

But Maki’s used to that. She clears her throat, if for no other reason than to show how unaffected she is. “I was just wondering. Was there ever anyone else in the clan who was born like me?” she asks. “You know, with no cursed energy?”

Now that gets Naoya’s attention. He whips his head up so quickly he almost slams it into the crisp paper screen he’s leaning against, eyebrows shooting straight up into his crappy dye job.

But her father makes a motion to silence him before he even has a chance to open his mouth. 

“Of course not,” Ogi snaps, far too quickly. “You alone are the most shameful curse this clan has ever had to bear.”

Naoya snorts. Ogi swats at him again.

Hm. Maki folds her arms across her chest. She may only be seven, but she’s seen enough for someone ten times her age. It doesn’t take a genius to know that he’s lying.

“Really?” she says incredulously. “So there was no one else? No one born with less cursed energy in exchange for increased physical strength?”

Ogi’s expression is unreadable, but she can tell he’s trying to read her face, too. “No,” he repeats, in a rumble so low it shouldn’t be obtainable from a human throat. “No one.”

Tension hangs heavy in the air, as if all the gravity throughout the compound has been pulled into the room like water down a storm drain. She’s not sure which of them will crack first: herself, or her father. They’ve played this game many times. His victories were dominant in the beginning, but the scales are slowly starting to tip in the other direction. Just a little longer. One of the two of them will break.

But in the end, it’s Naoya.

He chuckles and leans forwards with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and instantly Maki regrets ever coming here in the first place.

“Oh? So you’re just gonna lie to her?” Naoya mocks, as if this whole conversation is for his own entertainment. “As always, you old cowards are too scared to even talk about your failures with Toji.”

Maki swears she can feel her heart literally stop. “Toji?” she squeaks.

“Yeah, Toji,” he repeats, enunciating each syllable so that her father flinches with every letter. “Don’t let this decrepit fool deceive you. He was the strongest man to ever come out of this clan. Other than me, of course.” His lips curl into a devious sneer, and it’s a twisted, hideous little thing. “Didn’t even have a shred of cursed energy, but they’re too chicken to admit he could’ve torn them all to shreds. Too bad he had to run off and get himself killed.”

“Killed?” Maki repeats, somehow in an even higher octave than before.

“Killed,” he repeats with a lash of his tongue, cracking against the air like a whip. “You know the Six-Eyes in the Gojo clan everyone’s always prattling on about? They fought, and he lost.” Naoya tsks and shakes his head. “What a shame. It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

“Silence!” her father commands, but Naoya just snickers. 

“You fools wouldn’t even let him near me, because you were afraid I would find out the truth. But it was all too easy to slip through your fingers. I even got him to train with me a couple times, though he complained the whole time.” Naoya waves a hand dismissively. “I think he just wasn’t built to handle kids -- not that it mattered. He would’ve made a terrible father. I still think it’s sickening that he went off and had a baby with some monkey trash.”

By now, Maki can barely find it within herself to speak. “He had a baby?”

“Supposedly,” Naoya replies, and his expression turns sour. “But we can’t be sure. If it exists, no one knows where that kid even is.” He prods at her father with his toe. If Maki tried something like that, she’d lose her leg. “If you useless geezers hadn’t refused to keep track of him when he left the clan, that wouldn’t have happened. ”

But Ogi’s face hardens, as if he knows something they both do not. “An unfortunate oversight,” he grouses. “But Toji Zen’in was an embarrassment to the family and a stain upon the clan. How many times do I have to tell you to give up that obsession of yours, boy?”

Casually, Naoya shrugs him off. “Obsession is a strong word,” he drawls. “Keen interest is more like it. Unlike you and my father, I have no intention of ignoring real power once I’m head of the clan.”

“Keep up this kind of behavior, and you will become no such thing,” her father seethes, but Naoya just gives him a devilish smirk. They both know he can’t prevent that from happening, and as much as they try to shroud clan politics from her, Maki knows it too. 

“Whatever,” Naoya scoffs, then he turns his slimy gaze back towards Maki. “By the way, don’t go thinking you’re anything like him. You’re nothing but a poor imitation cooked up by a man past his prime.” Ogi looks about ready to kill him, and Maki wishes that he would. “So don’t get the wrong idea.”

“As if I’d listen to anything you said at all,” Maki bites back, and Naoya just rolls his eyes disinterestedly. Ogi’s still glaring at her cousin, and Maki is too done with both of them to wait for him to stop. She swivels around on her heels and marches out of the room -- and stops just before she can cross the doorway.

“Father,” she says quietly. “I’m your daughter, right?”

She doesn’t need to turn around to know that he’s fuming at her right now. She doesn’t even want to try to imagine the look on Naoya’s face. 

“What?” her father exhales. “Of course you are my daughter. I watched as you were cut out of your mother’s womb, and she has not left this compound since the moment she became my bride. Do you have any idea what I have lost because of you? If I did not have such a useless heir, I would be head of the clan instead of my brother.” Ogi leans forwards, and the pressure in the room drops like a rock to the bottom of a lake. “You are my greatest regret, you miserable little girl. There is no child in the world with less potential than you.”

Maki lets out a long sigh. The first time he said something like that and she was old enough to understand him, she’d cried her eyes out; the second, she got absolutely sick. Each time after that cut into her like a river to a mountain, until she was so worn down that she no longer felt anything at all.

“I thought so.”

Soon, Maki shuffles out of the room, eyes unconnected from the world around her. She’s about halfway down the hall to her room when she hears footsteps padding after her, and before she can react, Naoya is right behind her.

Thanks to Toji, Maki is fast -- but Naoya is still faster. He grabs the fabric of her collar from behind and wrenches her around to face him.

“Why would you ask something like that?” he hisses, pupils shrinking into pinpricks as venom drips from his tongue.

Maki wriggles in his grasp, to no avail. “Cut it out! I was just curious!”

But Naoya doesn’t look like he’s buying that at all. He cocks his head and surveys her expression, in the same way a lion would look at a gazelle. “What do you know about him that you aren’t telling me?”

He's not even dead, you idiot! But she'd never say that even if her life depended on it. “N-nothing! I only know what my father just told me!” she stammers, and she hates that her voice is wobbling like this, but he’s stomped her face into the dirt too many times to keep her words steady.

Naoya’s face twists into something that can only be described as monstrous. “You will never be Toji-sama,” he spits, and whoa, who doesn’t have an obsession? Then before she can stop it, he darts his other hand towards her, rips her glasses off her face, and throws them onto the ground.

He crushes them under his foot with a nauseating crunch, and her heart breaks along with them.

“Know your place, trash.”

He walks away, and his cackles reverberate throughout the wooden halls of the compound even after Maki runs to her room, slams the door closed, and covers her ears.

After an impossibly long time, she finally draws in a shaky breath. 

“You’re wrong, stupid Naoya,” she whispers to her floor. “Toji wouldn’t have made a terrible father.” She draws her knees into her chest, and keeps her tears from falling out of sheer willpower. “He wouldn’t have made a terrible father at all.”

-----------------------

Toji and Maki have finally stopped trying to one-up each other with how early they can each be to their training sessions, and they both usually wind up meeting each other at the door at exactly ten o’clock. Still, Toji felt strangely restless today, so he wandered over to the building a bit earlier than usual. It’s around 9:15, so he props himself up against the grainy concrete wall and closes his eyes as he waits for her.

Maki gets there a bit early, too. 9:45. Why is he not surprised?

He pushes to a standing position, bones cracking like popcorn -- fuck, he really needs to stretch. He lazily waves a hand to greet Maki, until something catches his eye.

Her face is bare. The signature red-rimmed glasses she keeps glued to her face are nowhere in sight.

“Oi, Maki,” Toji calls. “What happened to your glasses?”

“Someone--” Maki cuts herself off. “They broke.”

Toji might be dumb, but he’s not stupid. He can finish a sentence when he needs to. He’d ask her who did it, if he thought he’d get an answer. She can’t even look at him right now. “Don’t ya worry, kid. I’ll get you a new pair.”

“They were special,” Maki mumbles, and they really were, weren’t they? How the hell is she supposed to see curses now?

“I know,” Toji says softly. “I’ll figure something out.”

They walk into the building, but Maki’s still staring off into the distance, eyes cloudy and glazed over as if she’s looking at something he’s totally blind to. 

“You don’t have to,” Maki replies. There’s something in her voice that sounds almost guilty.

“I know I don’t have to.” Toji gently ruffles her hair. “But I want to.”

But that just makes Maki’s face fall even further. She immediately changes the subject -- to something Toji can process even less than the discussion they’re having now. She sits down on the ground and crosses her legs, so Toji plops down beside her.

“Why don’t you ever talk about your past?” she murmurs.

Fuck. He knew they’d have this conversation eventually, and he’s been dreading it to his core ever since. He knows he should make something up, but the words just don’t come. He can’t bring himself to lie. “Because I don’t remember it,” he finally whispers. “I got into a big fight and I lost, real bad. Some kid blew a hole through my side and wiped my mind along with it. I got lucky enough to have someone pick me off the dirt and save me, but clearly, not quickly enough to save all of me.” He heaves a long sigh. “Fighting that guy is one of my only clear memories.”

“Was his name Six-Eyes?” Maki asks.

What the hell did Yuki call him again? Ruler of the black hole domain? Heir to one of the four great sorcerer clans? Wielder of the infinite-- fucking-- whatever. “Something like that.”

Maki blinks at him. “Was he strong?”

Unfortunately. Toji sighs again. “Really strong.”

Maki furrows her brows. “My creepy cousin thinks you shouldn’t have lost.”

“Yeah, well your cousin is wrong,” Toji scoffs. “Honestly? I had it coming. I think I was supposed to die.”

Eyes darting to the floor, Maki looks away at that. There’s a taut silence that tugs at the air, like surface tension on a cup of water about to spill over. Toji thinks for a while that she’s going to drop the subject, but before he can get back up and return to their training, Maki grabs hold of one of his pant legs with a tiny fist.

“No,” she says, so quietly he might’ve missed it if he’d breathed a second sooner. “You weren’t.”

A harsh pang slams into Toji’s chest, knocking the wind clear out of his lungs in a single smack. Whatever’s left of his brain short-circuits, each synapse frying one after another. He tries to catch his breath, but it’s a solid five minutes before he finally does.

“Maki?” he chokes.

“Do you still think I’m your daughter?”

Does she really have to phrase it like that? It’d kill him if he weren’t already dead inside. “Yeah,” Toji sighs. “I do.”

“Does it make you upset?” Maki asks, finally turning towards him. “Are you disappointed that it’s me? Because I can’t do anything special?”

“Wh-where the hell is this coming from?” Toji stammers, and he never knew that heartbreak could be a physical thing until now. “Of course I’m not upset. If there’s anyone that should be upset, it’s you. I don’t know how a deadbeat guy like me deserves a kid as determined, strong, and resilient as you.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I’m not disappointed in the slightest, and don’t ya dare say that you’re not anything special. Maki, I’m proud to call you my daughter. There’s no child in the world with more potential than you.”

Another moment, and Maki’s face just--it crumples, like the only thing that was holding that steel-jawed expression in place all this time were toothpicks and string, and Toji’s just cut some essential thread.

“I have to go,” Maki sobs, fat tears rolling down her cheeks in little waterfalls as she stands up. “Bye.”

Toji pushes to his feet. “Maki? Hey, wait!” 

But she scampers off, and Toji’s left all alone wondering what the hell he did wrong.

Chapter Text

Maki doesn’t show up the next time they’re supposed to meet.

Or the time after that. Or the time after that. 

Toji knows, because he waits for her all day -- and he means all day. He rejects jobs on those days even though he really needs the money, because if she somehow changes her mind and decides to roll in at 10 PM rather than 10 AM, dammit, he’ll be there. It’s so pathetic that all he seems to be capable of is just showing up.

He tries to analyze what he could’ve possibly done wrong, but he doesn’t even know where to begin to look. Maybe he just fucked up so many times she decided she was finally done with him. Toji couldn’t really blame her for that, but it still feels like his life force has been sucked out through his ribcage.

He may be able to see curses using his five heightened senses, but sensing the actual cursed energy of a person from this far away is beyond him. He couldn’t find her even if he wanted to. And damn, does he want to.

He twirls the item made of lenses and red plastic around his fingers absently. It took him forever to pick out a new pair that looked anything like Maki’s old glasses; these ones are a bit more of a pink-red than her others had been, with square eye-frames that lack a rim across the top. They might be a little big for her now, but she’ll grow into them. At least that’s what the salesperson said.

He’s not sure how Yuki imbued them with the power to see curses, and he didn’t ask. All she said was that he owed her a favor now -- as if he wasn’t already in her eternal debt for saving his life -- but she ended up cashing it in to carry her shopping bags for her during a day at the mall, and he had to sit through her very vaguely complaining about a nearby group of sorcerers that apparently, disagreed with her ingenious methods of eliminating curses. Toji had smiled and nodded and pretended like he understood, because he’s buttered up enough women to know what they want to hear, but Yuki saw right through him and smacked him upside the head. He knew there was a reason they get along so well. Any and all banter is totally genuine.

Toji sighs as he checks his watch again. It’s only then he recalls that he broke the stupid thing against some fucker’s face a week ago, so he checks the clock on his phone instead. 9:58 AM. He hates himself for the swell of hope that still rises in his chest when the clock hasn’t yet hit 10.

He flops onto the ground and splays out like a starfish. Maybe the ceiling will give him the answers he needs.

He lays there for what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes. He’s about to resign himself to yet another day of drowning in his own stupid thoughts, until the faint creak of the old door comes from somewhere beside him.

So Toji springs onto his feet and whips around to face it. Maki is standing hesitantly at the door, not making eye contact. 

“Maki!” he says, for lack of a better greeting.

“Uh...hi,” she mumbles, shuffling into the room. She stops a meter or two in front of him before turning to face the mirror, striking a ready stance that looks as tense as she does.

Toji scrubs his hands down his face. For all that brooding, you’d really think he would’ve bothered to think of something to say to her if she actually showed up. But nope. Not a word comes to mind, and his brain draws a blank, like a whiteboard wiped down before he’d even had a chance to look.

“Hey, uh…” he begins intelligently, “I’m sorry.”

Cautiously, Maki glances at his eyes in their reflections. “What for?”

God, he’s so stupid. “I don’t really know.”

“It’s fine,” she breathes, after a few seconds of silence that drag on far too long. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Toji doesn’t know if he believes that, but he doesn’t press further. There’s a weird distance between them that goes beyond just physical, and it feels like they've taken a step back. But at least she’s here. Part of his energy returns just by being beside her, and he thinks distantly that the phrase ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ is real fuckin’ dumb, because he would’ve rather had her never leave in the first place.

They begin to spar without really saying anything, but they reached the point where they didn’t need words anymore quite a while ago. Their time together is a little longer than usual, and Toji wonders if she’s trying to make up for it, if she’d practice during their time apart. It seems like she had. He feels a little proud of that.

When she tires herself out and gets ready to leave, Toji shuffles around in his bag before she can dart out the door.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, and no, for once in his life he actually didn’t forget, but the last thing he wants to do is overwhelm her right now. “Uh, here. Got you some new glasses. They should be able to do the same shit your old ones did.” He swallows thickly. “Sorry they don’t look totally the same as those. I--”

“That’s alright.” Maki interrupts, something streaking across her expression that he can’t quite name. Sadness? Hope? “They’re--they’re perfect.”  

“No problem, kid,” he replies as he ruffles her hair, and she lets him. “I told ya I’d figure something out, right?”

Nodding slowly, Maki blinks away the moisture in her eyes that well with unshed tears. Shit, did he mess up again?

“Um--” she begins with uncertainty. “Sorry I didn’t come these past few times. Can you--”

She cuts herself off, looking oddly shy. What the hell?

“Can I what?”

“Can you crouch down?” she asks, finally meeting his eyes for the first time that day.

“Er...alright.” Toji complies, sinking down onto his knees. He’s about to get punched by a seven year old girl, isn’t he?

But he’s not even close to being right. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and throws her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Toji can feel his brain walk out the door with his ability to speak, good fuckin’ riddance. “Th-they’re just glasses,” he finally chokes out. “It’s no big deal.”

Maki just tightens her tiny grip around him in response. “Not just the glasses.”

Oh, mother of christ. Toji’s not gonna make it. 

In lieu of a reply, Toji hoists her up into his arms, balancing her in the crook of an elbow. She gives a little squeal of delight that turns Toji’s heart into jelly.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he chuckles. “You wanna go get ice cream?”

Even from the corners of his eyes, he can see the huge smile that spreads across her face like a sunrise, and she nods fervently. “Guess my favorite flavor!”

Toji taps his chin with the arm his kid isn’t balanced in. “Hmm. Well, chocolate’s your favorite cake….but I’m gonna guess with ice cream it’s somethin’ different. I bet it’s somethin’ weird, like pistachio or peanut butter.”

“No way!’ she giggles. “It’s green tea!”

“Hey, I was kinda right. That’s still a little weird.”

“No it isn't!” she defends with a snicker. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

Rum. “Uh...vanilla.”

She squints her eyes at him in concentration, a smile still tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re lying,” she says deviously. 

Pfft. Toji snorts. “How’d ya know?”

She beams back at him with a smile that puts the sun, moon, and stars to shame. “I just did.” With that, they head off into the afternoon.

Things go back to normal after that, or rather, better than normal -- if they’d taken a step back before, now they’ve taken a giant leap forward. She actually comes over to his place a couple of times so they can work through the stack of action movies he got for her birthday, and they have loads of fun picking apart the terrible fighting form of the actors. Sometimes he’ll pause it and act like a half-decent teacher and ask her to tell him exactly what they’re doing wrong and how to fix it, and other times he’ll pause it just so they can point and laugh at them.

Before he knows it, six months pass. He and Maki often do something fun together after their training, like go to a park or play board games with missing pieces that they scrounge up in alleyways. They make up their own directions, and he wishes he could say he’s letting her win, but most of the time she absolutely decimates him with no help of his own. Toji’s never been a fan of losing, but this he’ll do with a thousand-watt grin.

One day after training, they’re kicking back at his place, feasting on leftovers he’d gotten from the night before. There’s a little ring from her pocket, and she whips out -- a phone?!

“How am I just now finding out that you have a phone?!” he interjects.

Maki looks up. “Because I always turn it off during training!” 

Seriously? Toji face-palms. “Man, kids are getting ‘em earlier and earlier these days.” He jabs at it with his fingers. “The hell is that thing? There aren’t even any buttons.”

“It’s a smartphone, genius,” she giggles. “It’s pretty new, but you’ve really never seen one?”

“I totally have,” he lies through his teeth. “You’re just a kid, why do you even have a phone?”

Maki’s face falls just a little. “It’s so my family can make demands while I’m out running errands.”

Fuck, he wishes he hadn’t asked. Toji’s stomach churns.

“Hey, gimme your number,” he says.

She pauses for a moment. “Well, okay.” She hands him her device so he can punch his own digits into her contacts list, and Toji prays he can figure this stupid thing out before he makes a bigger fool of himself than he already does on a daily basis. He flicks his own out of his pocket and tosses it to her without looking up. Where the hell are the keys on this -- oh, there they are. Damn, that’s just ridiculous.

Maki cracks up a second later. Toji quirks an eyebrow through the black fringe of hair dusting his forehead.

“Oh my god, your phone is so lame!” she cackles.

Yeah, why is his phone so lame? Yuki could’ve afforded a way better one. He makes a mental note to whine to her about it later. “Oi, watch it. It does what it needs to, y’know.”

Maki just shakes her head and laughs again. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Yeah, me too,” Toji replies, and thank hell, he was just barely able to put his number in her contacts in time. Success, he’s finally mastered technology. “Call me if you ever need me, or something.”

“As if,” she snorts.

“I mean it,” he insists. “I promise I’ll pick up.”

In response, Maki smiles back at him, then checks the time on her screen. Her eyes widen owlishly. “Oh, shit. I’ve gotta go.”

Toji’s jaw drops to the floor so fast he swears he can hear it dent the fake hardwood. “Holy shit, did you just swear?!” He smacks a hand over his mouth. “Are my bad habits rubbin’ off on ya?”

“Yeah, I guess they have. I can’t help it! They just roll off the tongue,” she chuckles, and he’s about to be real proud of himself because hell yeah, he’s a hilariously terrible influence already, but then she adds, “It’s totally worth every whip.”

Her words cut into him like a knife made of ice, razor-sharp and deathly cold. A gruesome fragment of a memory of laying on cracked ground with his guts spilled out slams forth into his consciousness, but only because it’s exactly how he feels right now. 

“Move in with me,” he blurts out, before he even has a chance to think twice about it.

Maki blinks at him. “Huh?”

“Don’t go back,” he demands, and holy shit, he’s never even raised his voice at Maki before and now he feels like he’s about to scream. “Those fucking low-lives don’t have the right to call themselves your family. You don’t have to go back there. You can just stay here with me.”

But Maki frowns. “Don’t look now, but I think a rat just crawled under your fridge.”

“I can move,” he wavers, and dammit, he’s trying to keep the desperation out of his voice and it’s not working very well. “Throw a dart at a map with your eyes closed, I don’t care. Anywhere you want, we can just go.”

Maki swallows hard, and begins fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve until it frays into a tassel of threads. “I don't think I can,” she says eventually, and it looks like it genuinely hurts her to tell him that. He can see it in her eyes that this isn’t the answer she wants to be giving, but she also must feel like she doesn’t have a choice. “I’m sorry.”’

And at the end of the day, she still goes back to them. Toji’s always known that he’s a shitty parent, but he’s never been more certain about that until right now.

His daughter is being physically and mentally abused by the people she calls her family, and he can’t do a goddamn thing. He’s never felt so powerless in his life, and even fighting the white-haired brat pales in comparison. Being the strongest man alive is utterly useless if he can’t protect the one thing that matters to him.

He downs two bottles of whiskey, calls Yuki and shouts his feelings at her for a solid half an hour, she sends him every cat video she’s ever seen in her life, and he finally passes out around 4 AM. 

-----------------------

Maki trudges home feeling dejected after her conversation with Toji. She could tell he was disappointed, from the way his face had contorted as if hit by a metric ton of bricks. She’d almost wanted to tell him that the answer hurt as much for her to say as it did for him to hear, but she’s pretty sure that would’ve just made both of them feel even worse. 

She feels trapped enough as it is. She’s not sure if leaving the Zen’in clan is even possible. She’s always wanted to get stronger, prove her worth, and become the head of the clan; but no one ever said she had to do that while living with them. Maybe if she were older, she might have a chance. But she’s a child, a girl, and lacks an innate technique; each of which alone is a fatal flaw in the Zen’in family, and Maki checks off every box. All three strikes and she’s out in one shot.

She stops by a department store, a grocer, and a butcher’s shop to gather the list of items she was tasked with retrieving by her father. She lugs home three massive bags of merchandise, wondering with every step how the heck her father thought a seven year old could carry all of this junk -- he probably thought she couldn’t, which is why he must’ve told her to do it in the first place -- but her second-favorite way to spend her time is proving Zen’ins wrong. 

Dammit. Maki sighs. Her first-favorite way to spend her time is probably moping on his couch right now. She tries not to think about it and isn’t particularly successful.

Maki removes her glasses from her face and slips them into the pocket of her skirt, the way she always does when she arrives back at the Zen’in family compound. Naoya never found out that she got another pair, and she’d really like to keep it that way.

“You’re late,” her father spits as she walks in the door. Oh great, she’s somehow messed up already. “Where were you today? Why are you disappearing so often these days?”

She’s not surprised it took him this long to even notice. “Does it matter? I thought you’d be happy I was out of your sight so much.”

Ogi scoffs, but thankfully he doesn’t press further. It’s almost funny how little he cares about her. “Never mind that. Did you bring the items I asked you to?”

“Yes,” Maki replies, handing him the bags of groceries and supplies. She drinks in the slight surprise on his face like an oasis in a desert. “But who even eats ox meat?”

Her father looks at her as if she’s lower than dirt for even asking such a question. “It is a crucial part of a customary meal in this family,” he glowers. “We are feasting tonight. Tomorrow is an important day.”

It is? Maki didn’t get the memo, but that isn’t surprising, either. She’s about to open her mouth to ask, until someone else answers the question before it leaves her tongue.

“You hadn’t heard?” Naoya taunts, teetering out from behind the door frame like a drunken dancer. Maki wonders how much force it would take to knock him off balance. “I’m going on a solo mission tomorrow to exorcise a grade one curse to cement my promotion to grade one sorcerer.”

Maki slants an eyebrow and crosses her arms. “So they’re just making anyone grade one these days, huh?”

Unsurprisingly, Naoya clicks his tongue in irritation. Her father holds up a hand to placate him and turns back to Maki. “Silence, you insolent girl. Show respect to your cousin.”

Maki sticks her tongue out at him. Naoya flips her off.

“It’s at some private high school not too far from here,” Naoya continues, because Maki’s convinced he’s in love with the sound of his own voice. “The thing only ate a handful of kids, and the principal came running to us in tears.” He rolls his eyes just for show. “What a pathetic monkey. Though I bet you can relate.”

“You’re wasting your time, my boy,” calls Naobito’s voice from inside the room. He approaches the doorway and joins his son in looking down on Maki. “This one will never learn.”

Something painful and desperate surges through her like a flash flood, drowning her lungs until she can barely breathe. She squeezes her fists in resolution and clamps down hard on her tongue until she can taste copper. “I want to come!” she declares. “I’ve gotten stronger! Just give me a chance!”

It takes a second for the words to register with the three men surrounding her. When it finally does, their faces each twist into their own ugly brands of derision, and they burst out into a chorus of cruel laughter.

Maki’s expression falters, and she wilts like cardboard in a rainstorm. 

“A chance?!” Naobito bellows through the laughter wracking his chest. “You won’t even be able to see the damned curse!”

The hidden glasses in Maki’s skirt pocket feel heavier now. Yes I would, she seethes to herself. But she can’t risk them being broken again. It was hard enough to watch the first time. She’s not sure if she could handle a second.

“Come to think of it, there is a way you could be helpful,” Naoya cackles. “I bet you’d make great bait. While it’s busy gobbling you up, I’ll barely even have to get my hands dirty.”

“Yeah, you’ll need all the help you can get,” Maki snaps, but Naoya just snickers in response.

“Talk back all you want, but I know you’re just jealous of me.”

The worst part is that he’s right. She’d sooner die than admit it, but she is jealous of him. If she’d just been born with a cursed technique, then maybe she could--

Maki blinks, and her gloomy feelings dissipate all at once when the realization hits her.

Her old knee-jerk reaction fades away as new emotions settle in her chest. She’s not sure when she stopped wishing things were different, but even if she can’t quite place the moment the change occurred on a timeline, at least she knows why.

Because if she had a cursed technique, that would mean she wouldn’t be like Toji.

He could rip them all to shreds like tissue paper into a wood chipper. It’s comforting, in a twisted sort of way. So she tries to think of what he would do, if it were him instead of her standing here right now; that nonchalant confidence that makes him larger than life, the way he carries himself so sturdy that he could stomp on the chest of all the world’s evils and they could writhe and kick and scream from beneath his steel-toed boots, and he wouldn’t even blink. She thinks of movements swift as wind whistling between a mountain range but immovable as the peaks beneath, with punches like firing artillery and kicks like the blast of a cannon. He’s a far cry from the heroes she’s read about in comic books, tongue too foul and humor too crude, but Maki never liked those characters anyway. She always found herself rooting for the vigilante who did what both the heroes and the villains never could.

So she shifts her stance, tries to emulate his own. She sets her jaw the same way he does when he’s about to laugh, and narrows her eyes with the same fearlessness that he had when he’d leapt after her in the wake of her falling from the tree.

The old men are too busy cackling to even look at her.

The only one that notices is Naoya.

His eye twitches, and he immediately stops laughing. Without another word, he pivots on his heels and marches back into the main room, and her father and his soon follow.

Maki doesn’t need to ask to know she’s not invited to his stupid party -- not that she’d want to go. His father sometimes lets him drink at these sorts of events, and Naoya is a dreadful lightweight. He’s a pathetic and sloppy drunk, and even Maki’s iron stomach can’t handle that level of secondhand embarrassment. She spins around and flits back down the hallway to her room.

And doesn’t bother sleeping. When it’s just before 4 AM and she knows everyone will be sleeping, she tiptoes out of her room and navigates through the maze of wooden corridors leading to the heavy mahogany doorway of the Zen’in family archives. She opens the door with a muffled creak and slips inside.

The file is still sitting out on the table closest to the entrance, just ahead of towering rows of bookcases filled with old scrolls that smell of aging ink and overturned earth. She hoists herself up onto the cushioned wooden bench and begins to read.

Not much is known about the curse Naoya is supposed to be fighting. Due to its deadliness, its power level is listed as ‘most likely’ grade one, so basically it’s just a guess. There’s also a useless description of ‘a large and scary gray thing’ supplied by the principal. But the file has the address of the school, and that’s all that counts.

If she can defeat this curse before Naoya does, it’s not just her they’ll be forced to acknowledge. They’ll have to acknowledge Toji, too. Saying she’s had enough of this scornful treatment would be the understatement of the century. She’ll prove herself. She has to. She’ll claw it out of their throats if she must, with nothing but grit and her bare fingernails.

She leaves the file in its original position and makes her way to the weapons closet. She selects a spear that glints at the tip when the dim light of the room ricochets off the metal, and she doesn’t look back. The early morning bus has an unnecessary amount of stops, but it can still get her there in just under an hour.

It’ll be alright.

She’s totally got this.

-----------------------

Toji wakes up stupidly early for no good reason at all.

The old digital alarm clock with blocky red numbers that glitch into pixels reads just after 5 AM, which is ridiculous, since he only went to bed an hour ago. His breath still tastes bitter with alcohol and his head feels like it’s been run over by a tractor. His sheets scratch at his skin from where his shirt rides up onto his back, and he groans into the emptiness of his room, pawing at his nightstand where his phone is charging. Maybe watching another one of those kitten videos Yuki sent him that Toji would never admit he likes will lull him back to sleep.

He glances at his phone with bleary eyes and blinks the world back into focus, and when he can finally make out the notification on his screen, his heart completely stops. His hangover slips away in an instant, along with every other feeling in his body.

He has a missed call from Maki. Just one, no voicemail. It’s from barely five minutes ago.

Call me if you need me, he’d said, and he promised he’d pick up. Fuck, he’s so worthless. He flips open his phone and frantically checks his text messages.

He has a single text from her, sent two minutes after the phone call. An address. Halfway across the city.

As far as they've come, Toji knows that Maki would never call him unless she truly needed him. She’s just too stubborn to do anything else. Toji almost cracks his screen from how hard he presses the button to call her back.

It rings ten times before eventually redirecting him to her voice messages. He doesn’t try again after that. 

He actually has a job today, but screw that. His daughter needs him. Nothing else in the universe could ever matter more than that.

He doesn’t know what she needs, though, so he’s gotta be prepared for anything. He grabs the bag he uses for missions and throws in a bunch of junk food because it’s all he has in his cabinets, an old bottle of water, and the first-aid kit Yuki bought him as a joke. He throws weapons into it at random and tosses it over his shoulder without zipping it up.

He really wishes he had a more convenient way to carry his supplies than this.

Toji tugs on his boots without bothering to lace them and pulls on a dark long-sleeved shirt over his old white tee. He’ll be fine no matter what the temperature, but Maki might need it. He leaves the belt of his combat pants unbuckled because he usually does that half the time already.

He’s on the fifth floor, and the stairway is narrow and overly convoluted. The elevator goes at the speed of a child pulling up a bucket from a well. Both are useless. Both are too slow.

So, Toji does what any normal person would do, and jumps out his fucking window. 

He lands onto the concrete alleyway behind his building with a resounding crack, the pavement splintering under his feet as if it were plastic. He dashes out to the street, ready to motor off to her location, before his idiot brain realizes that he doesn’t have a goddamn car.

It goes without saying that public transportation is out. Even a cab wouldn’t be nearly quick enough to satisfy him. Toji knows he’s fast, but straight-up running halfway across the city couldn’t sustain the same velocity that a motor could.

He doesn’t have time for this. He withdraws a pistol from his bag, points it right between a motorcycle rider’s eyes when they pull up to the stoplight beside him, orders “Off,” and the driver complies.

Toji’s pretty sure he breaks every traffic law ever written as he speeds through the labyrinth of the streets. He’s lucky that the address is close to one of that of an old job, which is how he knows it’s in a real swanky part of town, where the city tapers off into the suburbs. He can’t even begin to guess what the hell she’s doing there.

It’s a school for a bunch of snobby rich kids, he recalls as he races towards the twin iron gates that stand majestically between polished marble pillars at either side of the entrance to the campus, at the end of his lawbreaking journey. 

And that’s when he sees it.

Toji’s encountered curses before, but none of them were even close to this. He’s a mercenary. He doesn’t do exorcisms. He’s fought sorcerers before, but he has yet to fight the monsters that the sorcerers fight themselves.

Because fighting sorcerers is different; for even in all their arcane glory, sorcerers are still human, tamed beasts made of flesh and blood and bone, with movements he can read like lines in a play and weak spots he can target like a master sniper. Toji can’t explain it; it’s like he was made for it. Going toe-to-toe with them in combat is more second-nature to him than the beating of his own heart.

But this, this thing -- it can only be described as a thing. Even if it weren’t for the sheer size of it, he would know it was a special grade. Noxious sludge in shades of heliotrope drips from the rows of fangs lining its open maw. Endless tails curl into its mouth in the twisted sense of an ouroboros, as if so ravenous for carnage it cannot resist devouring even itself. An exposed skeleton clings to its ashen skin like half-buried fossils, its ribcage raw and decaying with rot. Countless appendages stomp radial cracks into the ground and dig into the concrete walls of the main school building, pulverizing it into shrapnel and particulate dust. 

Even so, there are parts of it that could almost seem human -- its eyes, even if there are far too many of them, are bloodshot and bleary as if tortured and in pain. Its claws are more like fingernails bitten by an obsessive child, tattered at the cuticles and scraggly at the tips. Its tongue doesn’t seem capable of withstanding its own teeth, and hangs in mangled shreds at the side of its mouth. Altogether, it’s an abomination, a being that haunts the nightmares of nightmares. And in one of its hands----

----is Maki.

Ah.

It clicks in that moment; something shifts inside him. Instincts unlike those he relies on when fighting low-lives and sorcerers activate like the flip of a one-way switch, instant yet irreversible, simple yet unbreakable. That’s your child, a voice whispers, from somewhere far beyond, or maybe deep inside him. That’s your child it’s holding.

Toji takes a deep breath, and the feeling overtakes him.

“Put down my daughter!”

And Toji slams his foot into the pavement with the force of an earthquake, a web of fractures spiraling out from the impact’s epicenter. He streaks across the campus like a crack of lightning, charging towards the curse at breakneck speed. The curse must possess some sort of danger sense, because it rears its ugly head towards him and it roars, so powerful that it’s a physical force. It drops Maki like a forgotten toy and Toji swoops forward to catch her, but one of the curse’s disfigured arms knocks him back across the campus before he can reach her.

Toji whams into the iron fence encircling the campus and half of his breath abandons his body -- it’s only a conditioned recoil in his chest that keeps him from being left gasping for air. Bricks crumble and the metal warps against the force of him shoving back towards the monster, and he realizes that he might actually need to think about this for once.

You can’t exorcise a curse without cursed energy. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but he just does. In his entire arsenal of weapons, he has exactly one cursed tool. A broadsword, maybe second grade at best. Yuki gave it to him. For emergencies, she said. Don’t use it against anything unless you absolutely have to.

He’s lucky that he brought it. If Maki brought a cursed tool with her, it’s long gone now, most likely eaten. There’s a cut on its tongue too clean to have been made by its serrated teeth, openly oozing the curse’s putrid excuse for blood. 

Unmoving, Maki lies limp in the fragments beside the curse. That tiny light of hers is flickering, like a candle about to blow out. Toji’s always been a risk-taker, but now the stakes are too high. He’s lived his whole life jumping from one mistake to the next. Here, he can’t afford to make even one.

The curse writhes around in a cacophony of unholy shrieks, as if merely existing causes it excruciating pain. In a fraction of a second Toji is right before it again, brandishing his weapon, and he brings it down with all his strength to chop off the beast’s nearest limb.

The blade hits. It does absolutely nothing.

Toji barely has a chance to register the shock before what might be a tail bashes into his chest full-force and sends him flying. This time, though, he’s ready for it, and he rights himself mid-air, driving his heels against one of the gate’s stone pillars that collapses the moment he launches off of it. He slings the sword across his back as he racks his brain.

He’s not sure if the sword’s curse power just wasn’t strong enough to breach the skin of a special grade, or if he did something wrong that prevented him from doing so. That exoskeleton is unlike anything he’s ever fathomed. The kickback from the blow sent tremors deep into his marrow, vibrations echoing throughout the chasms of his bones until they felt ready to explode. If he were anyone less, he surely would’ve died from the recoil alone.

It turns its focus back towards Maki like a shark with the smell of blood on its nose. Alright, thinking will have to come later.

“Hey, ugly!” Toji hollers. “Over here!”

He can barely even distract it, or at least, not well enough. Not when it has enough hands to catch his afterimages and eyes to track his every cell. But he has its attention captured, if only for a moment, and he’s going to make the best damn use out of it that he possibly can.

Toji surges forward and grasps his hands around its tail, and it squeals like a pig on a butcher’s block. He digs his heels into the ground, draws back his shoulders, and bends his knees the way he’s always taught Maki to do.

He doesn’t fucking care how many tons this thing is. He picks it up, and he throws it.

It slams into a nearby window and it shatters, shards of glass streaking across the dawn like a meteor shower. It rakes its claws desperately into the main building’s front facade as the rubble collapses onto its hideous face, dust clouding into its eyes. Toji ambushes it again and takes a wild swing at its back with an iron fist, but dozens of pairs of eyes lock onto him the moment he makes contact, then it flips back to try to crush him under its behemoth weight.

But that doesn’t even come close to working. Toji jets out from under it and lets it fall with a scream of agony. It clambors back up onto its many feet and hoofs at the ground like a bull at a rodeo.

The fucking thing has powers, because of course it does.

He’s not sure which of his senses picks up on it first; the tangible rumbling from the ground as rubble rises seemingly on its own, the smell of freshly-ground dust choking back in his nostrils, or maybe the ear-splitting clack of stone against stone.

Toji turns around, and kind of wishes that he hadn’t.

Behind him stands an immortal army clattering forth like a horde of zombies, a march of the living dead for creatures that were never even alive to begin with. Its innate technique has somehow breathed life into the wreckage, as faceless golems stomp towards him in a mismatched jumble of materials, a glass arm here, an iron head there. Toji almost chuckles.

For someone who relies solely on physical fighting and is trying to minimize any and all collateral damage, this is truly a worst-case scenario. He needs to contain the fight, and contain it here, and that’s without even taking the terrifying monster who created them into account.

Cracking his back, Toji smirks. Guess it’s time to get started.

The concrete corpses lumber towards him from every direction. He stabs the sword into the ground like an anchor and swings himself around its handle, bashing his boots through their lifeless bodies and taking half of them out in one swift motion. He pulverizes the rubble into hail, stifling the air with gray stormclouds. 

The rest continue towards him like ants eager to get stomped on. Toji’s always been a nice guy, so he gladly obliges. He slams fists through solid rock and drives his knees into wrought iron. He wrenches up the sword from where it cleaves the earth and lances it through three creatures at once, and they disintegrate into nothing when he yanks the sword back out through their breathless chests.

He rockets towards his next batch of victims, only for the curse itself to wrap an appendage around one of his ankles and fling him into the school’s olympic-sized pool, plunging him deep into the frigid water.

Toji feels his body waver for just a moment before launching off the floor of the pool and up onto the deck. His hair drips with chlorine and he shreds off his sopping wet sweater, leaving behind only the old white tee he slept in. 

He sails back towards the curse and its troops, breaking the ground behind him as if it were ice.

A patchwork creature made mostly of concrete with a street sign for a spine gallops towards him, but that’s just what Toji needs. He rips out its spine and windmills it around to destroy the next wave of the cavalry, and the metal whines and distorts under his grip. 

It’s a stop sign. Heh.

The curse hasn’t moved very far, which means it might need to be in close proximity to control its soldiers. It turns its head towards the gateway to the campus, and the metal from the fence contorts into a regiment of iron dolls, which tear towards him at the speed of sound. 

The speed of sound is fast. The speed of light is faster.

Toji pole-vaults with the sign to land atop a hissing pipe that spews unidentified sludge onto his attackers below the moment his feet touch it. In the fray, he retrieves his sword and lunges at the onslaught in front of him and launches his greatest assault.

He must look fucking deranged, double-wielding a cursed sword and a stop sign, but Toji almost revels in it. He gets one last whack out of the sign before the pole snaps, and he lets it clatter to the ground beside him. 

He’s never done this before. It’s not a memory, he can feel it in his soul. He’s never been in a fight where he had to protect more than just himself. 

And he can’t decide if it’s making him a better or worse fighter. He’s taking hits he shouldn’t be taking, dodging blows he should’ve parried. He’s paying far more attention to Maki than either the curse and its army or himself. Cuts and bruises mar his body like paint spatter, and the red from his wounds mixed with the water from the pool has decorated his white shirt with washed-out crimson splotches.

But the sheer increase in strength. He’s split equally between hacking through appendages with the sword and ripping off limbs with his bare hands. He can’t even feel his muscles; they expand and contract without his volition, as asphalt turns to dust from the wind force of his kicks alone. This isn’t talent. This isn’t practice. This is determination, stripped down to its raw bones.

These aren’t the instincts of a mercenary on a mission to kill. These are the instincts of a father trying to protect his child.

He wonders how the hell she was pushed so far, why she felt like she needed to go on a suicide mission just to prove that she deserves to live. Toji has no idea how to tell her that she already does. But he has to get the chance to tell her first.

He reduces the last of the curse’s warriors back to ruins. With its makeshift army decimated, the curse writhes against the detritus, tripping over its own limbs as it tries to get away.

“Come!” Toji thunders, smearing his own blood across his face like war paint and licking the rest off his butchered fingers. “I’ll show you what a monster really is!”

The beast screeches with an eldritch cry, and Toji tips back his head and cackles.

It dawns on him then. If most of its armor is on the outside, the inside must be where it’s the most vulnerable. He’s not sure if the inside of its stomach counts as a weak spot, but Toji will take what he can get.

It makes a last dive for Maki. This is the end.

Toji makes the decision before it’s even a coherent thought. Right as it’s about to swallow her up, Toji shoves her aside, leaps towards the gaping jaws of the monster, and lets himself be devoured instead.

The world goes dark as he’s consumed by the curse’s slimy entrails. He’s not much of a strategizer, but this is part of the plan. Not a bad idea for the curse to have an impenetrable skeleton on the outside, but he was right in assuming that its guts are totally bare. Bet the stupid fucker wasn’t banking on anyone being crazy enough to be swallowed whole, but Toji would almost be insulted if someone called him sane. He hacks at the soft flesh of its insides, and feels its body start to crumple.

Its horrible screams are even worse from the inside. The vibrations pulse throughout his veins until it feels like his blood is boiling. Acid burns his eyes, and his tongue tastes of gunpowder as smoke starts to fill the cavity in its core. Determination surges through him with dust and thunder, and with one last violent cleave of Toji’s sword, the curse lets out a final bloodcurdling caterwaul, then it dissipates into the morning.

It’s gone. The curse has been exorcised. 

Toji blinks rapidly as the sunrise blinds his vision, but he doesn’t have the time to catch his breath. There’s only one thing on his mind anymore.

Maki.

Her body lies limp on the ruined pavement, blood smeared beneath her like a sacrificial offer. Toji bolts over to her and pulls her into his arms.

“Maki?” he croaks. Water from his hair drips onto her cheeks, and she makes no movements to indicate that she felt it. “Maki, I’m right here. Can you hear me?”

For a few terrifying moments, Maki doesn’t respond. Desperation claws at whatever’s left of his worthless soul, praying to gods he doesn’t even believe in to please, please, just let her be alive. Finally, her eyes drag themselves open, heavy-lidded as she blinks away the debris.

“Toji?” she breathes. 

“Maki!” He drops his forehead against hers, relief flooding him in a tsunami. “Maki. Oh, god. You’re alive.”

“Toji!” she chokes, frantically surveying his bloody and battered form, and then the waterworks start. “Toji, I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry?” he wavers. “What the hell for?”

But Maki doesn’t reply. For once, she doesn’t try to put up a front and just lets herself cry, her sobs coming in wet little hiccups. She clutches his shirt with a tiny fist, repeating over and over I’m sorry, I’m sorry, and Toji tells her it’s alright just as many times. It takes a while for him to even realize that he’s crying too, his tears coming in salty waterfalls that cut clean tracks through the grime on his face.

“You got hurt because of me,” she whimpers.

Toji can’t even feel the lacerations on his body. He could’ve lost limbs and he wouldn’t have cared. “It’s fine,” he tells her. “They’re not that bad. I’ll be good as new before ya know it.”

Doubtful, Maki knits her brows in concern and sniffles. “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad at you?” Toji repeats. He wipes away the hair stuck to her face made tacky with blood, sweat, and tears. “Of course I’m not mad at you.”

Maki trembles. “Why?”

“Why?” Toji falters.

Because you’re everything to me.

Before that fateful day at the weapons shop, he went through life as if he were a drone. He had no concept of anything like meaning, and he avoided any fleeting thoughts about his past like the plague. He remembers how utterly foolish he’d been, believing that he never wanted to remember his family. Maki is what gives his sorry existence meaning, and he’s never going to let her go again.

Because I’d do anything for you.

He heard an old saying once that said, ‘a hero would give you the world, while a villain would ruin the world for you,’ but he thinks that being a parent is the willingness to do both. He could’ve died again without Yuki there to save him and it truly wouldn’t have mattered, as long as Maki had survived. 

Because you’re my daughter. 

Maki deserves a far better father than him, he knows she does. But he just can’t help that burning desire for him to be the one that protects her, for him to stay by her side, until she’s old enough to rush ahead of him and he can watch her grow up for the rest of his life.

And if there’s one thing he’s learned since meeting Maki, it’s that there’s a difference between not wanting to die, and wanting to live.

There’s really only one way to put it. Toji takes a deep breath.

“Because I love you.”

Maki’s breath hitches. Her grasp on his shirt tightens.

“You do?” Her eyes gleam with some heart-wrenching mix of shock and hope, and more teardrops spill in little creeks onto her face. “N-No one’s ever…”

She cuts herself off, and Toji is almost thankful for it. If she’d finished that sentence, told him that no one’s ever said they loved her before, that would be it. Toji would never be able to forgive himself for leaving her behind.

“Come with me,” Toji breathes, clutching her shoulders tighter. He doesn’t care if it sounds like he’s begging. He is. “Please.”

After a few long seconds, Maki nods against him, and it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever felt in his life. She nuzzles into his chest and he feels her breathing slow into a steady rhythm, her tiny palm pressing against his thudding heart.

It takes a little while, but she finally calms down; and eventually, she falls asleep in his arms. So Toji lifts her up, walks through what’s left of the iron gates, and carries her home.

-----------------------

‘Report: Zen’in Clan Archives, Case Number 20163. Topic: Curse located at Nishimiya Private High School. Informational update, addendum 3. 

The curse was found exorcised at 9:16 in the morning. Examined residuals have determined that the initial assignment as a grade one was in error. Forensic reports have concluded that the curse was undeniably a special grade. The only additional residual of cursed energy belonged to Maki Zen’in. However, there were two distinct sets of footprints, one belonging to Maki Zen’in and another to an unidentified individual, most likely a man. No further information about the mysterious person was obtained. Theories include effects of the special grade’s unknown innate technique, or a sorcerer with the ability to mask their cursed energy signature. Subsequent developments are not expected.

Case closed.’

Naoya clutches the report until his hands are shaking, the paper crumpling beyond recognition beneath his smoldering fingers. 

“It’s not possible,” he says to his wall. “It’s not possible. Toji Zen’in is dead.”

It didn’t even occur to the clan heads at their debriefing, but Naoya can think of no other explanation. There’s just no way Maki could have exorcised a special grade alone, and there’s only one person in the history of the world who could’ve possibly helped her without leaving a trace. Naoya doesn’t believe in ghosts, and ghosts don’t leave any footprints. Maki’s been acting too suspicious lately, and now he finally knows why. Bringing it up to his father would be totally pointless. This, he will keep to himself.

He drops the mangled piece of paper at his feet, stomping disgracefully on its idiotic words as he shoves through his doorway.

If you’re out there, Toji Zen’in…

...I will stop at nothing to find you.

Chapter Text

---please read beginning author’s note----

Surprisingly, Maki wants to stay in Japan.

And not just Japan. Tokyo, even. Toji was a little wary of that, but Yuki assured him that she’d keep the two of them under the Zen’in clan’s radar; she had, after all, done the same for him over the past two years. Toji couldn’t really argue with that, and he wasn’t about to deny Maki what she wanted. Especially after everything she’s been through.

The two of them go house-hunting the day after the special grade incident, and Maki falls in love with the first apartment they visit. It’s the second-to-the-corner suite on the third floor of a mid-rise complex. Large, sprawling windows beckon natural light onto the polished wooden floors, reflecting off the dark-speckled marble tile in the kitchen until the surface almost looks liquid. What’s advertised as a third bedroom has been converted into an office by the previous tenants, but Toji’s sure he and Maki will repurpose it for training. He can see it in her eyes, the way she’s already drawing up a blueprint for where she’ll put the mirrors and a weapons closet, maybe a punching bag or two while they’re at it. 

It’s just to the left of the Tokyo-Saitama prefectural divide, fairly close to the Arakawa river. It’s not quite the city and not quite the suburbs, busy enough that the area is lively but quiet enough to make it feel safe. There’s a quaint market a few doors down, along with a smattering of cafes and other little shops. A bus stop is at the end of their block and a train station is just a bit further. The roads are tidy and well-kept, perfect for riding bikes. A bridge arcs across the river about half a kilometer away.

While the place itself is nice, Toji’s convinced what sold his daughter is the view. The intricate silhouette of Tokyo’s metropolitan skyline is etched onto the furthest edge of their eyesight, just before the geometric cityscape dips below the earth’s curvature. They visit in the early evening, when the sun has just begun to melt into the river and its light seeps across the gentle waves, dyeing the cobalt water a striking emerald-gold. Dense foliage decorates the banks of the sidewalks in a palette of vibrant greens and colors of life. The city’s own version of wildlife, from a family of mandarin ducks, a dray of squirrels, and a pair of swans, seem to have made their homes in the surrounding area. Maki’s eyes watch in captivated wonder as the two majestic white birds pass by their window, and Toji knows she’s gone.

There’s no way in hell he can afford it, but Maki gives him one pleading look and that’s it for him. He signs the papers before the realtor can finish his sales pitch. He’ll figure something out. He always does.

His eye twitches at his signature. It’s weird to be using his fake name again, and his substitute surname is even weirder. They can’t use Zen’in; not when the clan thinks both of them are dead. For the moment, they’re using Yuki’s. There’s no way they could’ve passed a background check for anywhere worth living without a connection to an actual nonfictional person. 

It’s just pretend, but a guy taking his wife’s last name? That’d be something.

Moving takes a grand total of fifteen minutes. Maki couldn’t go back to the Zen’in family compound to get any of her belongings -- not that she’d even wanted to. Toji had about two suitcases of stuff worth keeping, one of which was full of weapons. The realtor eyes the suspiciously jagged shapes barely concealed beneath the thin black fabric, but ultimately looked like he decided not to pay it too much mind. He seems to care more about making the sale than who he’s renting the place to. 

Fortunately, the apartment comes mostly furnished. Toji thanks whoever’s up there for that, considering his pockets are already hemorrhaging cash. His bank account needs a trip to the emergency room, stat. It doesn’t look like his wallet is gonna make it.

Once the realtor leaves, Toji and Maki flop back onto the ivory couch in perfect sync, surprisingly plush pillows cushioning their short fall. 

“Welcome home, kid,” Toji sighs with a grin.

“Yeah,” Maki replies softly. “Home.”

They fish out one of the movies Toji got for her birthday -- Maki insisted that he keep them, bless her heart -- and it clicks into the DVD player. They get through about half an hour of it before Maki falls asleep on his shoulder. He wraps her up in the throw blanket that came with the couch and tucks her into her new bed, mentally adding ‘blankets and pillows’ to the frighteningly-long list of things he needs to buy. 

He shuffles into his own room shortly after and topples onto his mattress; this one doesn’t squeak like his old one did, and gone is the musk of alcohol. His old pillows didn’t make the ‘ keep’ list, so he balls up his favorite sweatshirt and buries his face in that instead.

He’s not sure when he falls asleep, but it’s not for long. Sometime around midnight, just past when the rows of streetlights have flickered off and a hush has fallen over the neighborhood, a rustling in the doorway pulls the rest from Toji’s eyes. He blinks, vision still spotty, and he’s about to sit up -- until something curls up at the foot of his bed.

Is that…?

Toji hears a blanket rumple as Maki tucks herself in on the floor. His whole body paralyzes as he racks his brain wondering what the fuck to do. He still barely knows how to parent, but he knows enough to realize that if Maki wanted him awake for something, then she probably would’ve woken him up.

...probably.

What the hell is she doing? Sure, it’s a nice place, but the floor can’t be comfortable. Toji might be kind of an idiot, but even he’s not dumb enough to not pick up that the only reason she’d come here is that she wanted to be near him.

A part of himself that twists his guts to acknowledge whispers that maybe, Maki is doing this because she’s finally not alone.

Still, getting up would be a risk he can’t take. He’s not about to spook her off less than twelve hours since they moved here. 

Then Maki sniffles, and all bets go out the window.

Toji sits up slowly to avoid startling her; but it’s dark, and the moment she sees a shadow undulating from the corner of the room, her eyes flash like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.

“Toji!” she says. She looks jolted, or maybe embarrassed. “Did I wake you up?”

Toji gives her a sleepy grin. “Nah, you’re fine.” He hoists her up off the floor and tugs the blanket around her shoulders, and her brows knit with concern. He treks over to the couch and sits the two of them down, unpausing the old movie but setting the volume to the lowest level to serve as background noise.

Then Maki curls up next to him, and he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face at that. He’s perfectly fine being a pillow until he has the chance to buy real ones.

He wakes back up long before Maki does. It’s still stupidly early in the morning, but this Toji knows because of delicate birds chirping at the rising sun, not the racket of morning traffic and puffs of smog creeping in past his taped-shut window. Yeah, this new place is gonna take a while to get used to, but he’s kinda looking forward to it.

He heads down to the market to check the place out. Everyone in the store looks neatly groomed and chipper despite it being -- he checks the wall clock. Seven fucking thirty?! Toji knows he must stick out like a sore thumb, with his rumpled bed-head and old shirt that’s way too tight on him. Still, there’s a couple of women that are trying very hard to pretend they’re not staring at him, and Toji smirks at that. Heh. Still got it.

He picks up a few basics -- some milk, eggs, cereal -- he’s gotta feed his kid something, even if he barely knows how to cook. Whatever, he’ll figure it out on the fly. Can’t be that hard, right?

...wrong. The previous tenants left behind some cookware, so Toji breaks them out to make Maki some eggs. Minutes later, they’re nothing but a charred black substance that probably needs to be exorcised. Great, breakfast is off to a magnificent start. 

Toji thinks there must be an extremely small subset of human beings who can defeat a special grade curse but can’t fry an egg, and he’s definitely a part of it. For some inexplicable reason, he gets the weird feeling that there’s only one other man in this category with him, though he couldn’t say who. 

Christ, he’s just praying this doesn’t set off the fire alarm. At least this place actually has one. Toji’s pretty sure the smoke detector at his old place was a paper plate taped to the ceiling.

Maki trudges into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “What’s burning in here?”

“Uh,” Toji begins. He looks at the flaky substance that’s probably permanently bonded to the bottom of the pan by now. “Eggs?”

Maki chuckles and shakes her head. “Why are you like this?”

Toji barks out a laugh. Little spitfire. “Good morning to you too,” he snorts. “Sorry ya didn’t sleep great. I’ll get some bedding and other stuff for the place today.”

In response, Maki blinks up at him. “Can I come?”

It almost hurts that she feels like she has to ask. He ruffles her hair, and she only looks a little annoyed. “Course ya can. It’ll be loads of fun, I swear.”

...he might also need a bit of help. The tag on the blanket from the couch boasted ‘1000 thread count,’ and yeah, Toji doesn’t even know what that means. That thing had to have more than a thousand threads, right? It’s a whole damn blanket.

The reason behind it is kinda heartbreaking, but Maki is impressively good at running errands. After they’ve taken the bus to a nearby department store, Maki darts through the shelves like a girl on a mission, checking off items from their shopping list one by one. Soon, their cart is piled high with home necessities, from pillows to towels to cutlery. Maki doesn’t even look at the prices; probably a force of habit, with the Zen’in clan’s treasure troves of cash. Toji doesn’t have it in him to tell her to slow down. His account balance is already so far in the red it’s like he slaughtered it. With all the splurging they did today, the comparison isn’t too far off.

Still, it’s mostly (mostly) easy to put out of his mind once he sees how much fun she’s having. They’ve never actually spent a full day together before now.

“What do you usually do during the day?” she asks, as if reading his thoughts. Creepy.

“Oh, y’know,” Toji stutters, and shit, he really can’t tell her about any of it. “Stuff. Of the uh, productive variety. Yeah.”

But Maki’s gotten used to enough of his answers being weirdly vague and inarticulate, so she shrugs it off like usual. “Okay.”

Maki actually sleeps in her own bed that night, thank fuck. Not that Toji minded cuddling with his daughter on the couch, but now he needs to earn some money, and he no longer has the luxury of taking jobs during the day. He rolls back into their apartment somewhere around 6 AM both looking and feeling like the grim reaper, and he barely has the time to shower and get dressed before Maki’s up again.

A few relatively uneventful days pass -- which is nice, considering how unfortunately eventful their lives have been up until now. They spend time playing some of their old games and exploring the neighborhood, and Toji catches her glancing at some kids her age running around in a nearby park. He suggests that she should go play with them, but she shakes her head almost violently, and that’s the end of that. Maybe she’s shy or something? He can’t imagine she’s ever had the chance to make normal friends. Or any friends at all.

Dammit. Fuck the Zen’in clan, seriously.

He doesn’t care if the curse was the one who’d carried it out; in his mind, it was them that pushed her to the brink of death. What the hell is she supposed to do if she’s in trouble again and Toji’s not able to get there in time to help her? That cursed tool she brought with her was clearly useless, and even his second grade broadsword took a feat of sheer insanity to be effective. He needs new weapons, sure, but his needs come second. Maki needs a weapon that if worst comes to worst, will be powerful enough to do most of the work for her.

So when Maki’s finally asleep that night, Toji takes the red-eye train back to his old town. He slips into the old weapons shop, the same one in which they’d finally been reunited, and looks around at the merchandise.

It’s all still pretty much the same. Just your standard selection of swords and knives, with the occasional crossbow or spear or some other slightly unconventional weapon. Any sort of firearm is out of the question, because bullets can run out. Toji’s starting to feel real stumped until it finally catches his eye.

The weapon has been there the whole time he’s been coming here, but he’s never given it a second glance -- mostly because it’s locked in a case that’s mounted right above where the shopkeeper sits, which means it must be so disgustingly expensive that it’s almost just for show.

It’s a katana, but a katana unlike any other. The blade is almost entirely transparent, only visible from the way it slices through the light trying to hit it, severing it into a kaleidoscope of colors around its edge in broken prisms. A rich ruby hilt peeks out from behind a snow-white cord wrap, woven with silver threads that glimmer depending on which direction he looks at it. The blade guard and collar are a shadowy platinum, etched with serpentlike designs that slither up to the blade as if ready to strike. The accompanying scabbard is made of pure ivory, engraved with some sort of leviathan with brilliant crimson eyes. 

It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. Maki has to have it.

Toji walks up to the shopkeeper and lazily points at it. “How much?”

The shopkeeper snorts. “More than you can afford.”

“Shut the fuck up. How much?”

“How can I tell you how much if I shut the fuck up?”

Asshole. Toji scowls. “Hey, don’t push me. You’ll regret it,” he says half-heartedly. “Answer my goddamn question.”

The man gives him a smug look. “Fifty million yen.”

Fuck it. “Gimme a week,” Toji declares. “Put that thing on hold for me.” As if the man would even need to.

“Anything for my best customer,” the shopkeeper shoots back sarcastically, but Toji waves him off.

“You’ll see.”

Toji does a lot of things he’s not proud of over the next week. He already knew he was going to hell before, but now he’s absolutely sure of it. Every night, he waits until Maki’s fast asleep before sneaking out of their apartment to carry out work he doesn’t regret for even a second. He always returns just prior to dawn, before the sun is even a thought in the sky yet, just a dim hazy idea tucked behind the Tokyo metropolis. The bathroom fogs up with steam while his scorching shower runs pink as he washes off the blood and gore.

He really needs a new fucking job. 

At the end of the seventh day, Toji heads back to the weapons shop. He slams down the massive stack of cash onto the countertop with a deafening thunk, soaking up the way the shopkeeper’s eyes bulge out of his skull and his face blanches bone-white. Toji hops onto the countertop, shatters the glass viewing case of the katana with his bare fist, wrenches the weapon from its placeholder and sheaths it, then leaves the store without uttering a single word.

Toji smacks it onto his bedside table and stares it down once he gets back home. It doesn’t feel right to say it’s just a sword -- but without any curse power, it technically is just a normal sword, if this ridiculous fucking thing can even be called that. He’s sure there must be some special way a weapon goes from a lifeless hunk of materials to one oozing with cursed energy, but he’s got no clue what the hell it is. He does, however, know someone who must have the answer.

Yuki’s at his door about two hours later. They actually live a lot closer together now, but it took her a while to reply to his text. She’s wearing a short black party dress that hugs her figure like a second skin and there’s glitter in her hair that twinkles when the warm lights of his doorstep bounce off of it, and in those razor-thin cherry red stilettos, she’s even taller than he is.

Toji gulps, eyes unhelpfully drifting to examine every crease in the fabric of her dress. Focus.

“Nice place,” she says, leaning languidly against the railing of the outdoor hallway. “Does Maki like it?”

“Yeah, she’s obsessed,” he responds. “Caught her starin’ for hours at a couple of swans that live nearby. I think she likes watchin’ the little boats float by in the river, too.”

Even in the dark, it’s quite the view. Yuki tosses her hair over her shoulder to take a quick look before turning back towards him. “That’s adorable,” she chuckles. “So you said you’ve got something you wanted me to take a look at?”

“Uh--yeah.” He reaches inside to pluck the sword off the entryway table and hands it to her.

Yuki’s jaw drops. “Oi, oi,” she exhales. “How the fuck did you afford this thing?”

Arching an eyebrow, “Don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answers to.”

Yuki just chuckles and shakes her head, giving him a light kick in the shin with one of those fancy shoes. “Is this supposed to be for Maki?”

Toji sighs. “Fuck, I’m a terrible dad, aren’t I?”

“Oh, you absolutely are,” Yuki laughs. “She’s gonna love it. It’s perfect.”

“That so?” he replies. 

Yuki nods once. “I’m guessing you called me here because you want to know if you can turn it into a cursed weapon, right?” she guesses, and damn, she really is too smart. Toji’s never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he feels like plastic picnic cutlery compared to her. “Honestly, this is the perfect base for it. One of the best I’ve ever seen, maybe ever. I can definitely do somethin’ special with this.”

Well, that’s promising. “How?”

Yuki flaps a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wasn’t worried about it, but now I kinda am.”

“Hey, just trust me,” she chuckles. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Pfft. Toji snorts. “Sure, sweetheart.”

Yuki laughs at that, then they chat idly for a little while longer before she heads off. Toji goes to bed feeling a little less horrible about himself and falls asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

Toji spends the next few days ripping apart the old office with Maki and turning it into a training room. They visit a local construction shop to buy mirror tiles they glue to cover the entire back wall, and a sports store a neighborhood over from theirs has the perfect mats. Toji offers to get her a punching bag, and she quips that she can just use him as a target instead, and they both crack up at that. The cashier gives them a weird look, but whatever. Toji’s pretty much used to that by now.

It’s almost another week before he finally hears from Yuki again. She stops by around mid-afternoon, when Maki’s tired herself out a bit from chasing after the family of ducks that lives near the river. She’d tried her damn best to hug those little ducklings, so Toji had very gently snatched one up so she could hold it. The picture he took of that with his shitty phone camera is now his lockscreen.

Yuki looks...weirdly tired. Her vibrant golden hair is a little duller than usual, and her concealer seems to be working overtime to cover the bags under her eyes. He meets her at his entryway and props himself up against his doorframe.

“Hey, pretty woman. You miss a night of beauty sleep or something?”

“Oh, shut up, darlin’. You’ve missed a whole year of it.”

They both laugh at that. They throw back a few more lines of banter before Yuki yawns. “You been out late partyin’ again?” he asks her.

She gives him a look that’s half a smile and half a pout. “Nah, not this time.” She unzips her bag and hands him the katana, neatly sheathed into its scabbard. “Told ya to trust me.”

Toji reaches out a hand to receive it, and as soon as his fingertips wrap around the hilt, cursed energy floods his veins like a summer monsoon, jolting in electric crackles throughout his body as if his skin is a lightning rod. It’s unmistakable. This is a special grade cursed weapon. 

Whoa. Toji whistles through his teeth. “Fuck,” is all he can manage to say. Nice, real smooth.

Yuki laughs breathlessly. “I know, right?” she agrees. “Turned out great, I think. That damn thing took way more effort than I thought it would.”

“What, you put your own energy into it or somethin’?” he jokes.

But Yuki just gives him a flat look. Oh. Oh, wow. Wow, she did.

“That’s--” Toji gulps, “--wow, thanks. You really did all that just for my kid?”

Yuki’s features soften into a warm grin, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she gives him a friendly flick on the shoulder. “I didn’t do it only for your kid.”

What? Toji’s always been good at talking to women, but he finds his tongue tied in knots, words stumbling over themselves like a jester on a tightrope. “Uh--um. Oh, okay. Cool. Cool, that was cool of you. Well, thanks.”

Yuki throws back her head and cackles. “Wow, my heart skipped a beat there. You really know how to talk ‘em up, lady-killer.”

Yeah, Toji’s got no response to that. “Oi, shut it. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

He gives himself an internal slap in the face. Yuki doesn’t even try to hold back another laugh.

“Toji?” Maki’s voice calls from inside, and both of them instantly freeze up. “Is there someone outside?”

Yuki’s eyes widen as she gives him an apprehensive look. Toji gives her a sheepish grin. “You wanna meet my kid?”

Her face flushes and she nods fervently. Toji steps aside as he ushers her past the entryway.

Maki blinks up at Yuki. “Who are you?” she asks bluntly.

“Hey, nice to meet ya too,” Yuki chirps back with a friendly wave. “Special grade sorcerer Yuki Tsukumo, at your service.”

It takes a second to click, but when it does, Maki’s eyes gleam with wonder she doesn’t even try to suppress; she stares at Yuki like she’s just met the tooth fairy, as if she’s discovered that something she’s only heard about in fairytales all her life is real and standing right in front of her. She takes a hesitant step closer, so Yuki crouches down to meet her.

“You’re a special grade sorcerer?” Maki repeats in disbelief. “Even though you’re a woman?”

Concerned, Yuki glances over her shoulder and gives Toji a look. Damn, he should’ve warned her that Maki can say off-putting shit like that without context. “There somethin’ wrong with that?” Yuki says tentatively.

“The women in my family aren’t allowed to be sorcerers,” Maki explains. “My cousin said that any woman who can’t walk three steps behind a man should get stabbed in the back and die.”

Yuki frowns. “Yeah, well he’s never gonna get laid, like, ever.”

“Laid?”

“Yuki!” Toji barks.

Yuki cracks up and waves him off. “Your cousin has no idea what he’s talking about,” she continues, glazing over her earlier comment. Thank fuck, Toji’s nowhere near ready to give Maki ‘the talk’ yet. “Of course women can be sorcerers! The only difference between men and women is the superficial stuff on the outside. On the inside, everyones’ souls are the same, and it’s up to you what to make of it, no matter what gender you are. The only person who decides your limits is you. If someone else has the nerve to try to tie their own shackles around you, just kick ‘em right in the face and break their chains instead.”

Maki looks absolutely starstruck. It’s ridiculously cute.

Then Yuki ruffles her hair the way Toji always does, and Maki doesn’t even try to stop her. Hey, no fair.

“Okay,” Maki finally says. “Um--how do you know Toji?”

Yuki laughs as she stands up, then she claps Toji on the back a little harder than she probably needs to, and he huffs out a muffled ‘oof!’ “He never told ya? I’m the one that fixed this guy up after he got hurt a while back!”

If Maki’s eyes were sparkling before, now they’re a whole fucking galaxy. “Oh,” Maki murmurs, then even quieter, she adds, “Thank you for saving him.”

He and Yuki exchange glances, and she clasps a hand over her heart. Toji clears his throat to avoid getting choked up. It doesn’t really work all that well.

Yuki opens her mouth to continue before something beeps in her pocket. She glances at her phone and her lips curl into a frown. “Shi--uh, darn, I gotta go,” she announces. It’s almost funny that she censored herself before the curse word could complete. If she only knew the shit he says on a daily basis. 

Maki’s voice snags in her throat. “Uh--can you maybe come over again sometime?”

With eyes full of hope, Yuki looks at Toji as if to ask permission, and Toji shrugs. “Sure she can.”

“Cool,” Maki says. “Bye for now.”

“Bye, Maki,” Yuki says warmly. She waves at Maki one last time and Toji walks her out, gently clicking the door shut behind them. Yuki turns around.

“Oh my god, she’s so precious.”

Toji’s mouth tugs into a proud smirk. “I know, right?”

Smirking, Yuki wags a finger. “You know, I bet she needs a strong female role model.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Toji agrees, then he teases, “You know any?”

Playfully, Yuki punches him in the arm. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

“Crazy bitch.”

Christ, when did their faces get so close together? Toji jerks his head away before heat can rise to his cheeks like a flustered schoolgirl. He clears his throat a lot louder than he probably needs to. 

Though Yuki might actually be right. Maki’s lived her whole life being told she’s not worthy of becoming a sorcerer because of her limited cursed energy and because of her gender. Toji’s got one of those bases covered, but he might need some help with the other.

“Well, she seems to like ya,” he tells her, as if it wasn’t the most obvious fucking thing on the planet. “By the way, that katana. You give it a name or anything?”

Yuki tilts her head. “A name?”

“Yeah, a name. Don’t all weapons like that have special names? Y’know, real weird and mystical shit that barely makes any sense?”

She smirks at him. “Maybe. What do you think it is?”

In contemplation, Toji taps his chin. With that unique clear blade and smoky complexion with splashes of red, it’s gotta be something real mysterious. “Uh...ghost something. Ghost Knife. Ghost...Weapon? Ghost Protector!”

“Toji, that’s the name of the movie we got hammered and watched in a theater at 3 AM together six months ago.”

It is? Wow, he does not remember that. “Uh, I know. I was just seein’ if you remembered.”

But she just laughs and shakes her head. “Sorry, handsome. You gotta figure this one out yourself.”

Yeah, Ghost Protector is kinda lame.

He’ll think of something better later.

Yuki heads off after that and Toji walks back inside. When he finally catches sight of Maki, she’s holding Ghost Protector(?) in her hands, surveying it with some mix of curiosity and reverence. “Hey, what’s this?” she asks.

“Uh...a present,” he replies. Maki unsheaths it and her eyes jump out of her skull.

“This is a special grade weapon,” she states. It’s not even a question.

“Yup.” He strolls over to her.  “Do ya like it?”

Maki nods without tearing her eyes away from its crystal-clear blade, watching in admiration as it cuts the air itself into tiny pieces. “Yes,” she finally breathes. “Thank you, Toji.”

That alone makes all the atrocities he committed in order to buy the damn thing more than worth it. “Yeah, no problem.” He picks up the scabbard and sheaths the weapon. “Keep it in your room with you, okay?”

“Okay.” She takes it from his hands and pads over to her room. Toji pours himself a glass of wine to unwind from the day, and Maki emerges a few moments after he hears it click on her nightstand. “Um--Yuki is pretty cool.”

“Yeah, guess so,” he replies with a smile.

Innocently, Maki blinks at him. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Toji chokes on his drink. “N-no,” he sputters. “Uh, no. No she’s not.”

“Oh, alright,” Maki replies, and she actually looks mildly disappointed at that. Toji takes one last look at his glass, then decides to start drinking directly from the bottle.

A few days later, Toji does the laundry for the first time. He refuses to let Maki help him with that -- though he really, really should’ve, because the floor of the building’s laundry room ends up drenched in some sorry mix of spilled water and soap bubbles that go up to his ankles. He returns to their apartment somewhat defeated, but at least their clothes are dry.

Maki really doesn’t have much. Toji puts them in her room and crosses his arms across his chest. “You really need some new clothes,” he announces.

She furrows her brows at him. “Yeah, I guess. I should probably go shopping.”

Yeah, Toji has no idea how the hell to do that. “I can try to take ya.”

In response, Maki looks him up and down and pulls a face. “Uh, or not.”

“Oi! What’s what’s wrong with my style?”

Maki smirks. “What style?”

Toji gasps and clasps his chest in a dramatic motion as if lanced by an arrow. Demolished, by his own kid. “Didn’t your mom ever take ya?” he asks, and he hates to call that random woman her mother, but the only alternative is telling her that she no longer has one. Maki shakes her head.

“No. My mom wasn’t allowed to leave the compound. She said the only way I could make her proud was to be obedient and know my place.”

Now Toji really feels like his heart has been skewered. He lets out a long sigh and whips out his phone, punching in the number he should really have on speed dial by now.

“Yuki,” he begins, and fuck, this is gonna have consequences. “Can you take my daughter shopping?”

Yuki squeals over the phone so loud he’s sure she ruptures one of his eardrums.

When Maki returns back to the house after her shopping spree, she’s got at least six bags on her arms and a huge smile plastered across her face. Toji drapes himself over the back of the couch. “Did ya have fun with Yuki?”

Shyly, Maki looks away but nods ardently. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I had a lot of fun.”

Toji flops back onto the couch cushions and heaves a sigh so heavy he completely deflates like a popped balloon.

He might be the tiniest bit totally screwed.

Life is immeasurably better since Maki moved in, but Toji’s the brokest he’s ever been in as much of his life as he can remember. Between the new place, stocking up on daily necessities, the excruciatingly expensive katana, and Maki’s recent shopping spree, his bank account is constantly teetering on empty -- and for once, it’s not because of his nasty gambling habits. He can no longer afford to turn down jobs he gets during the day, and until he finds a new occupation, this is his only shot.

Toji recalls how Maki had wistfully looked at the children playing in the park that one day, and it dawns on him the way it should’ve the moment he watched her do that.

“Hey,” he suggests, as casually as he can. He already knows this request is gonna freak her the fuck out no matter what. “You ever thought about enrolling in school?”

He was totally right. Maki freezes and glares at him with a panicked expression. “School?” she squeaks.

“Yeah, school. Ever heard of it?”

“Uh--” she starts, then she cuts herself off, eyes dropping to the floor. “Of course I’ve heard of it. But I’ve never really been.”

Not a surprise, but still kinda tragic. “Yeah, I figured. I think you might have fun, though. You can get to know some other kids in the neighborhood. Who knows? Ya might end up even making a couple of friends.”

Maki meets his gaze again, eyes almost watery. Oh, shit. That must’ve hit her where it hurts. “Friends?” she repeats.

Fucking hell. She’s gotta do it now. “Friends.” He pats her on the head without rustling her hair. It’s getting longer now, the tips dusting the middle of her biceps and her bangs sweeping to the side. “C’mon, at least give it a shot.”

After a stupidly long time, Maki finally nods. Toji allows himself a sigh of relief, and he signs her up for the local public school the next day.

-----------------------

Maki can’t believe she let Toji talk her into this.

She’s endured years of torment and nearly been consumed by the ravenous jaws of a special grade cursed spirit, but they almost pale in comparison to the terror she feels as soon as she steps onto the local elementary school campus. Kids are frolicking about without a care in the world, slipping down slides and crawling across monkey bars with zero technique. Don’t they know you should never lock your elbows like that?

Evidently not. One kid falls off the bars and totally eats it. Maki barely conceals a laugh at that. Okay, now she feels a little bit better.

The first class of the day is pretty tame. The Zen’in clan’s teaching was strict and thorough, and Maki already learned this material at least a year ago. Her nerves steadily calm, until -- the dreaded recess bell finally rings.

Unsure of what to do, Maki pads off to the sandbox on the corner of the playground and starts poking at the damp sand. Maybe she’ll look less awkward if she focuses on a solo activity to not draw attention to the fact that no one has a clue who she is.

Off to the side, her classmates are crowded around another student. Evidently, she’s not the only kid who just started here; scattered voices ask if he’s new here, and he replies that he just moved to town from the countryside. Maki looks up; it’s some kid in a yellow hoodie. Nothing really special about him, from what she can see.

But he seems popular already. More kids bombard him with questions and he answers them with a friendly grin -- until from the corner of his eyes, his gaze meets Maki’s. He seems to notice that she’s all alone, and for some inexplicable reason, he abandons the entire group of kids clamoring to befriend him just to greet her.

Weird.

”Hi!” he beams, eyes sparkling. “I’m Yuuji Itadori! What’s your name?”

Maki scowls. He looks like a freakin’ potato. 

“Go away.”

Chapter Text

“Hi Go Away! Nice to meet you!” Yuuji chirps, utterly clueless. “Your sandcastle is cool. Can I help you build it?”

Maki blinks. Is this kid for real? “No.”

“Cool!” Yuuji plops down beside her. Somehow, his shoes are full of sand already, and he’s only been here for about six seconds. There’s another shovel about half a meter away from him, but he doesn’t even glance at it and instead goes straight to plowing through the sand with his bare hands. 

Frowning, “Didn’t you hear me? I said no,” she repeats.

But Yuuji doesn’t seem like he’s listening anymore. Instead, he’s forming the damp sand into shapeless little lumps, weirdly focused. 

Ugh. Maki sighs. If it’s one thing men have, it’s the audacity.

“Did you just move here too?” Yuuji asks after a minute or so, one eye glued to the sand and one bugging out to glance at her. Maki didn’t think that was biologically possible until now, and she would’ve been perfectly content living her whole life still holding that belief.

It’s actually been a few weeks since she and Toji settled in, but she doesn’t really feel like elaborating. “Sure.”

“Awesome! Me too!” he exclaims, eyes brightening significantly. “My grandpa and I used to live in Sendai, but the doctors said he could get better hospital treatment here. I kinda miss my old home and friends, but I’m okay with it if it means he can get better!”

Okay, so he’s not a terrible person, but other than Toji, Maki feels like her bar for that is depressingly low. “That’s nice,” she replies, for lack of a better response. 

Fortunately, Yuuji seems accustomed to mostly one-sided conversations. “Yup! It’s really pretty here! I like the river and all the trees. I saw a really big fish jump out of the water the other day. It was as big as a dog! Or a horse! Or even an elephant!”

Maki quirks an eyebrow. There’s so much sand in his shoes now that he could probably build another two sandcastles out of their contents alone. “That’s nice,” she says again.

He jabs a stick into his sandcastle. Half of it crumbles. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Do you live close to the river too?”

Maki nods. “Pretty much right next to it,” she says, and then because other than the invasion of personal space he doesn’t seem all that bad, she adds, “There’s a family of ducks that lives across the street from me. They’re pretty cute.”

“Whoa! That’s amazing! I love ducks. All animals, really. And bugs! Do you like bugs?”

Bugs? Maki pauses. “I don’t...hate them?”

“Cool! I found a really weird bug last week. It took up my whole hand and it was covered in black and white spots! And it had four wings! I tried to show it to my grandpa, but he didn’t like it, so he made me put it outside.”

There’s no way this kid’s grandfather is anything close to the monsters she grew up with, but the statement is enough like her father scolding her for climbing trees to make her guts twist with familiarity for a moment. “That sucks,” she replies.

“It’s alright!” he says, and it seems honest enough that Maki’s worries are dispelled. “I’m sure I’ll find another one. Hey, maybe sometime we can--”

“Itadori-kun!” some kid calls, padding over to the two of them. He glances at Maki. “And um…?”

She’s still using Yuki’s last name for school, but it probably wouldn’t feel right to be called it out loud. “Maki.”

The boy smiles at them. “Maki-chan and Itadori-kun! Do you guys wanna play tag with us?”

It’s probably perfectly normal, but actually being invited to participate still makes something ache in her chest. “Sure,” she agrees, at the same time Yuuji springs up and says, “Yeah!” 

“Okay! Follow me, we’re by the field!”

Maki shoves to her feet and carefully steps over her sandcastle to avoid squishing it. Yuuji isn’t nearly as careful with his, but he does stop himself at the last second before accidentally stepping on hers. Weird.

The two of them trail after their classmate towards the clump of children concentrated at the near end of the field. Maki gulps. She’s familiar with the concept of tag, but the closest she ever came to playing it was Naoya chasing her around the compound with his blazingly fast speed. Not exactly fun. Well, at least not for her.

“Who wants to be ‘it’ first?”

That’s the one who does the chasing, right? Annoying that she actually learned something from her asshole cousin. “I can do it,” she offers.

“Awesome, thanks!” a girl replies. Maki should really learn their names at some point. “Okay, three, two, one...go!”

The kids bolt off in a firework of directions, tearing across the schoolyard as fast as their pudgy little legs will carry them. Maki already knows she could outrun any of her classmates in her sleep with her legs bound together, but she’s not about to make them dislike her already. She has the full intention to at least wait a few seconds before she gives chase, until something else commands her attention.

Or rather, some one.

Yuuji?!

He launches off like a rocketship, so fast Maki swears she sees sparks literally kick up behind his heels. Chunks of grass uproot from the force of his footsteps, crushed blades and clots of mud streaming behind him in a flurry like a trail of fire. He reaches the seam between the sooty edge of the field and the splintered wood chips of the playground in less than three seconds, and it flips a switch inside Maki that can only be described as instincts. 

She can’t help it. She follows.

Maki tears off in his direction, the cheerful shouts of the other children dying out around her as her focus narrows to a single point. The wind force of her own sprinting far outspeeds the gentle midmorning breeze blowing around her, whipping back her hair as sideswept bangs brush against the rim of her glasses. She just barely slows when she reaches the playground, her gait automatically adjusting to the new terrain as Yuuji scrambles up one of the slides. He whips his head around in surprise and something flashes across his eyes.

Something like companionship.

He doesn’t seem upset that someone is hot on his heels. Rather, he seems absolutely thrilled.

He lets out an exuberant laugh as he leaps up to grab hold of the monkey bars, twisting his body up and around them with a charge of strength to land atop the rungs with a metallic thunk. Maki grabs hold of the colorful pillar and swings herself around it, ignoring the slight burn in her hands from the friction as she gathers the momentum to pitch herself up across from him. She surges off the bars and pretends not to notice the way one of them dents a bit from the reverse pressure. Yuuji soars back towards the black and yellow platform and prepares to take off again -- but not quite quickly enough to escape Maki’s fingertips brushing the tip of his elbow. Yuuji whirls around. 

“Wow! No one’s ever been able to catch me before!” he exclaims, and a toothy smile dawns across his face like the first rays of sunlight after a long and lonely winter. “I’m it now, so you better start running!”

And so she does. It’s almost funny that her training with Toji kicks in now, as she backflips off the top of a slide and flashes Yuuji a bright smile that’s just a little bit crazed from where she hangs upside down in the air for a fraction of a second. Wooden dust clouds up beneath her toes when she impacts the ground, and she’s just barely quick enough to spin on her ankles before Yuuji’s right behind her.

He has about as much grace as a tiger cub stuck in a sock but his movements are fluid, continuous. Complete lack of order is a technique in itself. Not a very reliable one, but this kid makes it work for him. He finally catches up with her somewhere around the middle of the field, and she hadn’t even noticed she was laughing until his hand impacts her back and it ricochets off the giggles shaking her chest.

Maki almost feels bad that the two of them are virtually ignoring the rest of their classmates to chase after each other -- almost. She’d have felt worse if she couldn’t hear the other kids cheering them on from the sidelines, equally split between who they each want to win. The recess bell finally rings, so Maki and Yuuji topple down beside each other in the grass as they catch their breath.

“Wow!” Yuuji says through gasps of air. “That was so much fun! You’re so cool!”

Uh, what? Maki’s breath hitches. “You think I’m...cool?”

“Of course I think you’re cool!” Yuuji says as he bounces back to his feet, energy already restored. “You were like...zoom! And whoosh! And fwah! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Her energy returned as quickly as his did, but now she feels winded for an entirely different reason. Cool? Her family always looked at her as if she were mud tracked inside of the house, an irritating gnat they wanted to swat into a wall. They never hesitated to tell her as much, trying to break her iron resolve, waiting for the day she’d crumple like tinfoil. The only person to ever say otherwise was Toji.

It isn’t long before the other kids crowd them, echoing excited sentiments similar to Yuuji’s. “You were like Spiderman!” one kid tells her, and Maki doesn’t really know who that is, but he’s looking at her like she’s some sort of superhero. “Are you guys related?” another girl asks.

Yuuji and Maki exchange glances and shake their heads, but they're smiling at each other. One of the teachers hollers at the cluster of children to come back to class, so they all rush back to the school building. Yuuji taps Maki on the shoulder.

“We should sit together!” he suggests. “What grade are you in?”

“Second,” Maki replies.

“I’m in first!” answers Yuuji. It’s a small enough school that their classes are taught together, with a slight increase in difficulty between her studies and his. 

“Okay,” Maki agrees. The two of them scurry back to the classroom and settle into desks near the back of the class.

It’s a good thing Maki already knows this material too, because she can hardly focus at all for the rest of the day. Cool. Her. She wonders if Toji will know who Spiderman is. She doodles a little spider in the corner of her worksheet, penned black spirals trailing out in a meandering web. She’s about to start trying to answer the problems before Yuuji leans over and points a figure at the inky arachnid. 

“You should draw two,” he says. Maki looks up.

“Why?”

“So the spider isn’t lonely!” Yuuji replies. “Uh...sorry for bothering you in the sand earlier, by the way. But you looked lonely, so I wanted to keep you company.”

Maki tries to draw up a response to that, but she finds herself at a complete loss for words. “Thanks,” she eventually replies, in a voice barely above a whisper. “That was nice of you.”

“Of course!” he chirps. “We should have a playdate sometime!”

“A playdate?” she repeats.

“Yeah! A playdate! We can hang out and do fun stuff together! You know, like jumping around in the mud and climbing trees!”

At his words, Maki’s breath snags in her throat. “You like...climbing trees?”

“Yeah! I love it!” Yuuji exclaims. “There was this really big tree by my house where I used to live. It was as big as a house! Or a mountain! And there were hundreds--no, thousands --of branches, it was like a big maze in the sky! Each time I went up was a different adventure!” He leans forwards onto his desk. “Do you like adventures too?”

“Um--” Maki stumbles. “Probably?”

“Awesome!” Yuuji replies. “Let’s go on adventures together!”

“Together?” Maki breathes.

Yuuji nods. “Together.”

The school day ends a few hours later and the two of them part ways, agreeing to ask their respective guardians when it would be alright to have a playdate. Maki knows Toji won’t make a fuss, but she doesn’t want to put any pressure on Yuuji. She strolls through the maze of the streets at a leisurely pace, letting her gaze wander between the mom-and-pop shops and various cafes in a mismatched rainbow of pastel colors. She hops up the staircase to her and Toji’s apartment with a spring in her step and lets herself inside. Toji forgot to lock the door, which is kind of typical.

When she peeks in, he’s lounging languidly on the couch like an alley cat while taking a long swig of beer, but when he catches sight of her, he sputters and leaps to his feet. “Hey, kiddo,” he greets, in a tone too strained to pass off as casual. There’s a faint pink smudge on his cheek that looks like it could be wiped-off blood, but Maki’s thoughts don’t linger on it.  “How was your first day of school?”

“Good,” she replies, then she adds with a devious smirk, “You were right. I made a friend.”

Toji lets out an embarrassing little squeak he tries and fails to cover up with a cough. “O-Oh,” he chokes. “That’s real nice. What’re they like?”

“I’ll tell you more later,” she promises. It was a good day, but it tired her out in a way that none of her training sessions with Toji have. Maybe her social energy needs improvement? “I’m gonna go relax in my room for a while.”

“Right, right. Well, sure. I’ll be here. Just chillin’. So come on out whenever, okay? No rush.”

His concern is almost as sweet as it is hilarious. “Okay, see you in a bit.” Then she pads off into her room.

A few moments later she hears him talking excitedly to someone over the phone, and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face when she flops onto her bed.

The rest of the week goes on without a hitch. Maki never realized that popularity in elementary school was based on which kids can run the fastest and jump the highest, so she and Yuuji are the undisputed king and queen of the playground; Yuuji takes quickly to wearing a bucket as a crown, and Maki wields a plastic shovel as a scepter. Still, thanks to Toji, she’s got a better handle on her superhuman strength than he does -- she watched him try to play on the seesaw with another first-grader once, and he accidentally launched the kid clear into the sky. Maki laughed so hard she thinks she busted a blood vessel. 

Thursday arrives and Yuuji tells her he has the all-clear to come over to her place for a playdate the next day. Maki spends the entire evening tidying up with Toji’s help, although he still sorta sucks at that kind of thing. He probably just wasn’t paying attention, but he ended up putting the jar of bleach in the fridge and the carton of milk in the cleaning cabinet. That would’ve made for an interesting breakfast. Part of her wonders if he’d have even noticed the difference in his cereal. She tries to picture it and has to stifle a laugh.

When the school bell rings on Friday afternoon, Yuuji yanks his backpack out of the cubbies and darts back to Maki’s side in a flash, bouncing up and down on his toes like a baby kangaroo. “I’m so excited!” he says with a wide grin. He’s missing a small tooth on the left side of his mouth. “This is my first playdate since moving here! What about you?”

This is my first playdate ever , she almost says. But instead she replies, “Yeah, me too.”

The two of them walk home at the speed of an average adult’s jogging pace -- although, they make many stops for Yuuji to pause and comment on the scenery, taking audible note of little flowers peeking out through the cracks in the sidewalk, mouth-watering pastries in the windows of a bakery, even a graffiti mural of a rabbit on the side of an old house. “Bunnies are my favorite!” he says, although he’s said that about most animals they’ve talked about so far.

When they arrive at Maki’s apartment to put their backpacks inside, Toji’s propped up against the counter, staring off into space. Maki’s been around him enough to become accustomed to his picture-perfect nonchalance -- and if it weren't for all their time together, she might not notice the stiffness in his shoulders, the tension in his back. He’s swapped out his usual beer for a bottle of apple juice, and when he takes a sip, he pulls a face and glares at it like it’s insulted him, as if he’s never had the beverage before until now. Wouldn’t surprise her if that was true.

“Hey, kids,” he greets, turning his attention towards them. “Nice to meet ya, Itadori-kun. I’m Toji, Maki’s dad.”

Maki’s never heard him use an honorific before, literally ever. It almost sounds weird coming out of his mouth. He must really be nervous for her. Yuuji pads over and waves his hand excitedly.

“Thanks for having me over! It’s nice to meet you too, Tsukumo-san!”

“Whoa, okay.” Toji tenses up. “J-Just Toji is fine,” he finally chokes out, looking weirdly flustered. What the heck?

“Okay, Toji-san!”

“Just Toji.”

“Okay, Toji-ji!”

“Oi, I said just--” Toji cuts himself off with a sigh. “Whatever. You’re my daughter’s first friend, call me whatever you want.”

Maki colors, embarrassed. Why would he admit something like that out loud?! “Toji!” she whines. 

He seems to realize his complete lack of tact a moment later. “Fu--uh, whoops. Sorry.” 

At least he tried to curb his language around Yuuji. Maki has the restraint to avoid cursing in class, but Yuuji’s got the attention span of a walnut. 

Fortunately, Yuuji doesn’t seem to notice. “Maki isn’t my friend,” he says, and Toji looks like he’s about to throw hands with a six year old, before he corrects, “She’s my best friend!”

Toji’s eye twitches and Maki can tell his cheeks are straining to hold back a smile. “Cool,” he stutters, looking like he thinks this is the best day of his life other than the one he found her. “You guys want anythin’ to eat or drink? We’ve got some snacks and shi-- stuff in the fridge.”

“I’m okay for now, but thank you for offering!” Yuuji says politely, resting his bag on the floor by the entryway. “What do you wanna do today, Maki-chan?”

She decides to take a page out of Toji’s book. “Just Maki is fine.”

“Okay! Then just Yuuji is fine for me too!” he replies.

Well. Maki doesn’t really know what one is supposed to do on a playdate, other than what the name itself implies. “What do you wanna do?” she asks instead.

“Hmm...maybe we can play by the river?” Yuuji suggests.

Maki nods. “That could be fun.”

“Awesome!” He turns towards Toji. “Is it okay if we do that?”

Toji looks like he’d let them murder someone and help bury the body. “Yeah, sure. Just holler if ya need anything, I’ll be around.”

They wave to him again and head out towards the riverbank. It’s not far, only a couple minutes away and even less when they race each other there. Maki wins by only a hair’s width. 

“It’s so pretty here!” Yuuji pounces around on the damp grass beneath the shade of a bushy tree. He plops right down in the mud with zero hesitation, dirt speckling his white and navy-blue uniform. His signature hoodie is off today since the weather is nice and warm. “Look at that boat over there! I’ve always wanted to go on a boat. Have you ever been on a boat?”

It dawns on her then that she’d never even seen a river in person before she moved here. Man, that’s kinda sad. “I haven’t either.”

Yuuji doesn’t seem dejected by that. Instead, his expression brightens. “Maybe we should go together sometime!”

Shrugging, “I guess it would be possible. I heard they rent out canoes a bit further down the Arakawa. I bet Toji would take us if we asked him.”

“Yay!” Yuuji tosses up some grass in delight. “By the way, why do you call your dad by his first name?”

‘Because he’s not my real father,’ swirls in the back of her throat, but the words die long before they can reach her tongue. Because even if he isn’t her real father, she wishes he were, with every fiber of her tiny being -- so can’t she have this? Can’t she? “I dunno,” she mumbles. “Guess I just kinda do.”

“That makes sense!” Yuuji says, even though her answer wasn’t really an answer at all. 

“What do you call your parents?” Maki asks.

“My mommy and daddy are both in heaven!” Yuuji replies, with a smile different to the ones he’s shown her before. “But it’s okay! I live with my grandpa and he takes care of me. He said that heaven is a really nice place, so I shouldn’t worry, because they’re both really happy up there.”

His answer hits Maki like a bucket of concrete. Guilt takes a bite out of her heart for every time she’s wished the same fate on her actual father, if she thought he’d be going to the same place Yuuji’s parents did when he eventually bites the dust. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice.

“It’s alright. I don’t really remember them, but I still kinda miss them. But my grandpa is kind to me! He’s in the hospital a lot though, so I’ve gotten pretty good at cooking my own dinner. And I can do the laundry all by myself now!”

How can he say all that with a smile? It’s shocking how independent they both are, in equally heartbreaking ways. They’re more similar than she’d ever have thought, but she can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing. “I can too,” she says. “Toji’s not great at cooking or laundry, so I’m trying to teach him. He’s getting better. Uh, slowly.” She tells Yuuji about the milk-bleach mixup, and Yuuji erupts into a fit of giggles Maki can’t help but reciprocate. When their laughter dies down, Yuuji turns his attention to the long grass they’re sitting in.

“Have you ever made grass dolls before?” he asks her.

It’s getting kinda depressing how many of his questions she’s answering ‘no’ to, but Yuuji doesn’t seem judgmental in the slightest. “How do you make them?”

“Let’s do it together!” he says, ripping out a handful of grass and letting the blades fall into his lap. He bunches them together with surprising technique and begins wrapping a longer reed around the joints. “Grass dolls are great for playing pretend. You can make them into whoever you want and come up with stories with your friends!”  

Maki tentatively watches his example and does her best to follow. Her first attempt is a little shoddy, but it’s not entirely a failure. She’s heard Toji mumble ‘whatever, close enough’ so many times that it’s part of her own vocabulary by now. “What kinds of stories do you usually come up with?”

“I like action and superhero stories!” Yuuji answers. “You can come up with super awesome fight scenes and scary villains and people who save the day!”

Really? Maki brightens. “I love action stories too!” she agrees. She finishes tying the joints on her doll a couple minutes after Yuuji does. “I like when the hero no one expects to win swoops in and saves the day.”

Yeah, she might be projecting a little with that one. If he notices, Yuuji doesn’t comment. “Do you have a favorite superhero?”

Maki pauses. She’s seen a lot of movies but never pays much attention to the titles or names of the characters. There’s that Spiderman someone said she was like, but Maki forgot to look him up. “I don’t know,” she says softly, then a moment later she adds, “Toji is pretty cool, though.”

Softly, Yuuji grins at her. “You must really look up to your dad, huh?”

To confirm, Maki nods. “Yeah,” she murmurs, smiling to herself. “I do.”

“That’s awesome!” Yuuji finishes another doll and places it by the first one. “Let’s start a story together! I like to give my characters cool powers. Like being able to fly or breathe fire! Or have the power to talk to animals and blend into the darkness!”

“Like Ten Shadows?” she says instinctively, then she clamps her jaw shut with an uncomfortable clack, biting down on her tongue until she tastes iron.

Yuuji cocks his head inquisitively. “Huh?”

“Um--nothing,” she backtracks. “Yeah, that sounds fun. I think it’s fine when heroes don’t have any special powers too, though.”

“I agree,” Yuuji replies, thankfully moving on from her slip of the tongue. “But it’s still fun to think about stuff like that. It would be so exciting if magical powers were real, right?”

They are, she says to herself. But not in the way you think.

And she has yet to meet a sorcerer who’s anything close to a hero.

She hopes Yuuji never finds out about any of it. She’d never want him to be dragged into that world. Somehow, despite what he’s been through, Yuuji has the personality of sunshine, piercing through stormclouds like a ray of hope. Even if Toji can’t remember whatever life he had with the Zen’in clan, its aftereffects still mar his outlook long after his memory has failed him, leaving him jaded and sardonic. And as for Maki?

Sometimes Maki feels like those stormclouds Yuuji has to push past in order to shine.

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “I guess.”

Yuuji looks a little concerned, and it’s kinda sweet that his automatic reaction is to try to cheer her up. “That’s what playing pretend is for!” he says, giving her one of his dolls. Somehow, he’s already made four, which is honestly impressive. “Yours can be your dad, and you can have one of mine too!”

“Thanks,” Maki says as she accepts the doll. Her mood lifts a little just from how much she can see that Yuuji wants it to. “Let’s get started!”

They end up starting a story about a ragtag group of heroes who band together with their mismatched powers to fight a big group of villains that tried to cast them aside. The main antagonist is an evil old man who can light his weapons on fire -- yeah, no need to guess who served as that inspiration, but Yuuji is none the wiser and Maki prefers it that way. Feels more satisfying than she can put into words to have her Toji doll stomp Ogi’s face into the dirt. She might get a little too into that, but Yuuji matches her energy and they fashion more dolls as needed, adding characters to their epic tale. 

When the blanket of dusk begins its descent upon the Arakawa, Yuuji ruefully informs her that he’d promised his grandfather he’d be home by dinner, so they decide to pause their story and continue another time. Maki’s heart swells when he extends the offer and says how much fun he had playing with her, and they agree to try to hang out again in a few days. She bids him farewell and watches him skip down the sidewalk back towards his home, watching until his silhouette disappears into the twilight.

Maki flits back to her room and puts her dolls in the desk drawer. She pauses right before she’s about to close it, reaches a hand in, then puts the Toji doll on her nightstand instead.

She and Yuuji spend a lot of time together after that. He often stops by after school to continue their story and play by the river, frolicking around in the mud of the riverbank and chasing each other up trees like a pair of lemurs. They often tire themselves out like that, until they’re out of breath and their stomachs are rumbling; the first time Yuuji stays for dinner, Maki scrounges up the ingredients to cook vegetable tempura and Yuuji asks with delight if she can teach him how to make it too. She agrees eagerly and Toji offers to take them to the grocery store together, which Maki thinks he does half because he loves her and half because he still can barely cook anything above ramen for himself. Hey, learning to be a chef is an uphill battle.

It’s not until the third time Maki visits Yuuji’s apartment that his grandfather is actually home instead of at the hospital. He’s not an unkind person, but he’s not exactly warm, either. He looks at Yuuji as if he’s seeing someone else in his grandson, and Maki isn’t sure that Yuuji picks up on it. But Wasuke seems to care for him, even if he isn’t great at showing it, and he offers Maki a grunt of thanks for being Yuuji’s friend. 

Still, they’re at or near her place far more often than they’re at his. Yuuji teaches her how to make flower crowns and Maki shows him how to cook traditional dishes -- much to Toji’s delight, as their official taste-tester. 

Yuki stops by one night, after Maki and Yuuji have finished a chilled soba noodle dish.

“Oh hey,” she greets as she wanders through the door, as if she’s stumbled upon them by accident and not because Toji was furiously texting her from his barely concealed hiding place while they were cooking, because he’s totally lame and she’s his only friend. Girlfriend? Maki still isn’t sure. “You must be Yuuji! Toji’s told me a lot about you. I’m Yuki Tsukumo!”

Yuuji’s eyes widen. “Tsukumo?” he repeats. “Nice to meet you, Maki’s mom!”

Oh, dang. Yuki’s jaw drops. Maki’s breath hitches. Toji trips on -- air, or something. He almost face-plants into a wall. Missed opportunity, that would’ve been pretty funny. “Uh,” Yuki begins eloquently. Her eyes meet Toji’s with a frantic expression, but he just shrugs at her as if to say, ‘you’re on your own with this one, lady.’ Yuki clears her throat. “Something like that?”

“Cool!” Yuuji chirps back, clueless. “I was wondering when I’d finally get to say hi to you!”

Yuki blinks at him owlishly. “Sorry, I--I go on business trips a lot?” she responds, with a cadence more like a question than an answer. 

“Whoa, you travel?” Yuuji replies, eyes sparkling. “Where?”

“The whole world, really,” she replies, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. She crouches down to meet his gaze with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You seem like the adventuring type, aren’t ya?” She taps once on his chest. “Takes a lot of heart to be an adventurer. You seem like you’ve got what it takes, though. I can always tell when I meet someone. What kind of--” she pauses, as if rewriting her following statement. “What kind of things do you want to do with your life?”

“I want to help people!” Yuuji says earnestly. “I’m not sure how yet, but I know I want to do something like that. Maybe I could be a firefighter or a lifeguard! Or an EMT!” 

Yuki chuckles and ruffles his hair. “Yep, I was right,” she says softly. “You’ve got the makings of greatness in ya. The why comes first, the how can come after. You don’t have to have anything figured out just yet -- don’t try to grow up too fast, because there’s a lot you can only learn by being a kid. But if you’re confident in who you are and stick to your convictions, that heart of yours can take you anywhere.” She stands back up casually, as if she hasn’t just dropped a metric ton of wisdom onto Yuuji’s unsuspecting chest. “Hey, something smells good.”

It takes a moment for Yuuji to snap back to reality, but he does so with an extra spring in his step. “Yep! Maki and I made soba. We’ll get you some!” He grabs Maki’s hand and drags her over to the countertop to plate the meal. When they’re both behind the counter, he whispers excitedly, “Wow! Your mom is totally amazing!”

Carefully, Maki glances over at Yuki. She and Toji are smiling while whispering to each other with a look in their eyes Maki can’t quite name, other than that it makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Yeah,” she says breathlessly. Might as well go along with it, right? “I guess she is.”

After dinner while Yuuji and Maki are cleaning up, Yuki withdraws a light-colored canvas bag from her purse and plants it into Toji’s lap. It makes a faint metallic thunk muffled by some sort of tissue paper; it seems heavy. He peers into it and raises an eyebrow. “The hell is this?” he whispers under his breath. Maki has to strain to hear him over the sound of running dishwater.

“Kept this around for ya after Gojo kicked your ass,” she murmurs with an affectionate grin. “Took a while to fix it up. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

Maki blinks. Gojo?

Toji looks equal parts concerned and confused. “How the fuck do I even use it?” he replies.

Again, Maki glances at Yuki from the corners of her eyes. She’s still smiling at him softly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out when the time comes.”

Yuki stops by more often after that. Somehow they end up falling into a weekly storytime tradition where the four of them will cook dinner and feast together out by the river, Yuki sharing wild tales of her travels with theatrical style. Yuuji always hangs onto her every breath as if he’ll suffocate without them, like her words fill in his blank map of the world with brilliant splashes of vivid colors. He and Maki will often stay up late after that, adding onto her stories with their own imaginations. 

That’s another thing she picks up from Yuuji: how to dream.

Other than the freakish strength, they’re really nothing alike -- where Maki is calm and collected, Yuuji is like a jumping bean in a microwave. Maki aces all of her tests and Yuuji tears up when the teacher calls him up to the board to answer ‘3 + 4.’ Maki tries to hold up her hands to tell him the answer, but he just draws a picture of her on the whiteboard instead. And not a very good one.

But that doesn’t stop them from spending every second they can together. Inseparable is the word she overhears a few of the teachers using, and Maki kind of loves it. If either one of them is out of sight, it becomes common knowledge around the school to just ask the other. Yuuji’s not great at reading yet but he has lots of books, so she’ll often read them out loud to him while he acts them out with their grass dolls, drawing pictures into the riverbed with little branches. 

When winter finally arrives, snow blankets their town in delicate crystals, and the air takes on a crisp edge like pine needles and white linen. Every breath tastes fresh as the chill nips at Maki’s tongue, flushing her nose and the tips of her ears a subtle raw pink. Yuuji runs like a fan in the dead of summer, his body consistently the temperature of a hot coal furnace. He only wears his heavy winter clothing if Maki nags him to. It’s a symbiotic friendship.

“Have you ever had a snowball fight?” Yuuji asks her one day after school, while they’re relaxing indoors over two cups of hot cocoa. Yuuji’s mug is more marshmallow than chocolate by a comical amount. 

Maki shakes her head. “I haven’t,” she replies. “But it sounds pretty self-explanatory.”

Yuuji perks up. “Yeah, but knowing what something is and actually doing it are two totally different things!” he says, shoveling a half-melted marshmallow into his mouth. It smears all over the side of his face. “We should go have a snowball fight!”

Quirking an eyebrow, “Right now?”

“Right now!”

He doesn’t need to ask twice. They slam down their mugs in perfect sync and bolt out the door, racing each other down to the riverbed. The Arakawa isn’t entirely frozen over where she lives, but it’s chilled enough that slabs of ice mixed with wilted plant matter bob up and down in the waves like buoys. Maki watches as Yuuji skids across the snow and swoops low to the ground, scraping up a fistful of slush and compacting it together with his hand in one fluid motion. Before Maki can imitate, he hurls it at her with full power until it collides with her jacket in a powdery blast. 

Maki laughs when the ice sticks in her hair. “Oh, it is so on!”

With the two of them locked in a snowy battle, the calm riverbed quickly turns into a winter warzone. With their equal strength, neither of them have to hold back on each other -- Maki throws with force that could knock out an elephant and Yuuji reciprocates with flings that could take down a truck. Eventually Yuuji rips off a branch from a dead tree and uses it like a baseball bat to decimate her snowballs, so Maki pulverizes a nearby rock to use as a shield. When they’re both exhausted, they flop down beside each other in the snow, now tainted with a smattering of twigs and pebbles.

“Lemme show you how to make a snow angel,” he exhales, and starts flapping his arms and legs gracelessly until his hazy outline marks the crushed ice. Maki follows and discovers that his complete lack of technique is actually the proper way to do this.

“Why don’t we make a snowman?” Maki says as they admire their handiwork. Yuuji responds by gathering up as much snow as his little arms can carry until they’re trying to outdo each other again, forming balls of snow that weigh far more than both of them combined. Height becomes more of an issue than upper body strength, so Maki stands on Yuuji’s shoulders as they hoist the snowman’s parts together. Maki scrounges up some pebbles to form eyes and a mouth and Yuuji sticks on a twig for a nose. They stare at it contentedly for a moment before Yuuji flits back to pick up another stick and uses it to slash a scar onto the right side of the snowman’s mouth.

“There, it’s perfect!” he declares proudly. “Now it looks like your dad!”

Yuuji and Maki both crack up at that, and they laugh even harder when they get home and Toji gives them a weird look and says, “Oi, what’s so funny?!”

-----------------------

Toji never really thought he would give a shit about a kid that isn’t his own, but he’s gotta admit that Yuuji is pretty damn adorable. 

First of all, he’s pretty sure the guy is made of pure energy, from how he’s always bouncing off the walls like a pinball machine. The only time he isn’t smiling is when he’s stuffing his face with food, and even then he always talks straight through his meals between mouthfuls of rice. The kid’s got a heart of gold so bright it shines straight through his eyes, lighting up any room he wanders into like a ray of the sun. He thinks the world of Maki, and Maki thinks the world of him. Toji’s never seen her act her age more than when she’s with him, and he knows that Yuuji is the reason why she’s finally started opening up more and exploring what it means to truly have a normal childhood.

So not to be dramatic or anything, but Toji would literally kill for this kid. 

That said, he makes Toji look like a world-class genius. He’d beaten Maki home one day while Toji was still drenched in blood from his day’s work, and if the kid were anyone else on the planet, he never would’ve gotten away with saying it was ketchup. Sure didn’t smell like ketchup. He’d made the kids burgers that night just in case Yuuji tattled on him about it. Fortunately, Yuuji’s no snitch. Toji likes that in a person.

Yuuji is over at his and Maki’s apartment after school more often than not, and he sleeps over at least once almost every weekend. His grandfather is an okay guy -- bit of a crotchety old man, but he has mostly good intentions. Toji’s gut instincts say he’s hiding something, but he’s not gonna push it. Wasuke’s kind enough to pitch in on food Toji gets for the kids, and the few times Maki sleeps over at Yuuji’s place, he always makes sure to give Toji a call to let him know she’s doing fine.

Yuki is around more often, which is--nice. She’s good company, okay? No one can blame him for appreciating that. His job is still shitty and he’s constantly almost broke, but for the first time, he can confidently say that he’s... happy. When the kids get out of school for winter break, some combination of the four of them is almost always around the house, which means Toji is pretty much never lonely. So yeah, what a long way he’s come from waking up naked and half-dead on a surgical table. 

And then, because Toji’s life can never be too good for too long, something comes along and shatters his peace like a wrecking ball, just two weeks before Christmas. It’s an almost moonless night, when all the wolves of the mountains have gone into hiding, having nothing at which to howl. There is absolutely no warning -- just the front door of his and Maki’s apartment ripped clean off its hinges, clamoring first against the metal staircase and then onto the snow-covered ground below.

“Yo,” an airy voice says from behind him, and Toji’s stomach drops through the bottom of his foot. “Long time no see.”

Toji turns around. Icy blue eyes pierce straight through his soul from behind a fan of white lashes and black sunglasses.

“For real?”

Chapter Text

“For real real,” the boy says with a crazed edge to his voice, scraping against the tension in the air like the flat side of a knife. “You look like new. Guess I didn’t kill you hard enough.”

Dread gnashes Toji’s stomach and retches acid into his guts, eating away at his insides. “Oh? That was you tryin’ to kill me?” he taunts. “Felt like a tap on the chest from a puppy.”

“Ha!” the kid barks out a laugh and props himself casually against the now-empty door frame. “Well, you know what they say. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

“I got a better idea,” Toji shoots back. “How about I paint the walls with your intestines? I’ve been meanin’ to redecorate the place.”

The brat flares, flashing him a smile that’s all teeth and no joy. “So that’s how you wanna play this?”

Hell no. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Toji replies instead. “How did you find me?”

“Actually, you ran into a friend of mine,” the kid begins. “Real pretty lady, not that she’s my type. Long silver hair, maybe you remember. She’s kinda strong, so when she told me someone totally kicked her ass, I just had to be nosy, y’know? She told me it was a man with no cursed energy and a scar on the right side of his mouth, and I thought to myself--” His face twists into a manic expression, pupils blown wide behind his dark glasses. “-- ‘Hey! I know that guy!’ ”

Fuck, Toji should’ve been more careful. He knew taking jobs against sorcerers would land him in hot water someday, he just didn’t have the luxury of refusing them. He kinda remembers that fight -- the lady’s technique had something to do with crows, he thinks. Nothing to write home about. “Oh yeah, that,” Toji drawls. “Wasn’t much of a fight.”

But the boy just laughs again. “To be honest, it surprised me a little to hear you were alive and kickin’. Say, you get any help from someone?”

He really doesn’t want to get Yuki in trouble, but it seems like the kid already knows. “The hell are you talking about? All it took was a couple of band-aids.”

“Pfft. Nice try!” the brat snorts. “But if you’re gonna lie, at least make it sorta believable.” He shifts his weight, and the warm yellow lights from Toji’s apartment flash across his lenses like a crack of thunder. “Maybe I’ll have a little chat with your wifey later.”

Toji’s throat goes totally dry. “You leave her outta this.”

“Aww, how sweet!” he mocks, clasping a hand to his chest as if he actually had a heart in that empty cavity beneath his ribcage. “But too bad. It’s not like you’re gonna be around to stop me.”

Toji narrows his eyes. “Why don’t we take this outside?” 

“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”

The kid leaps to the railing and backflips off the platform with an unnecessary twist, because of course he’s a goddamn showoff. Toji follows, but not before darting back to grab the weapon Yuki gave him -- and withdrawing the special grade katana he gave Maki out of her closet.

Sorry, Maki.

He wonders if the brat knows about her. Christ, it’s lucky she’s at Yuuji’s tonight for a sleepover. Toji glares down at the kid on the snow below; he remembers his name now.

Satoru Gojo.

Fucking asshole.

Toji soars off the metal and thuds to the ground a few meters in front of him. It’s almost poetic, with Gojo in all black; Toji, in all white. His long sleeves do little to block out the cold, but most of the shivers are for an entirely different reason. He barely had time to slip on his combat boots before he left the apartment. His laces hang untied in the damp snow.

Gojo doesn’t pay much attention to the bag in Toji’s hand -- rather, his eyes flick up to the katana slung over his back.

“What’s that?” he asks.

God, Toji doesn’t even fucking know. “The last thing you’re ever gonna see, that’s what,” he says instead. “Besides me, of course.”

Gojo’s eye twitches. “You know, everything was fine before you came around,” he grouses, dropping his air of amusement for a moment. “You’re the reason everything started spiralling with him. Hope you’re happy about that, I guess. At least I got one good thing out of the whole mess.” He pauses, as if reconsidering. “Well, two.”

Toji can’t even remember what he did to ruin this kid’s life, but he can’t bring himself to regret it in the slightest. “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ thrilled,” he replies. 

Gojo sighs, the smirk returning to his face. “Not to mention you corrupted my other friend. You really had to get her to fix you up too, huh? She’s my former classmate.” He shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “I wouldn’t have thought she’d do that to me.”

It can’t be Yuki he means. Too much of an age difference for them to have been classmates, and she told Toji she’s been keeping her distance from him. He must mean that tired-looking doctor; Toji doesn’t even know her name. “Oh right, her,” he sneers. “She was real handsy, y’know.”

Gojo lets out a single harsh laugh. “You’re really determined to make me lose everyone, aren’t ya?”

Toji doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s talking about and he doesn’t want to find out. All he knows is that there’s a roiling resentment scorching his chest so hot he feels like he could cough up fireballs, and he just can’t stop himself. “What can I say? You deserve it.”

Gojo’s expression falters. “They’re not yours anymore,” he declares, and there’s something almost like desperation in his voice. “I’m not gonna let you take them away from me.”

Who the hell is he referring to? Whatever, it doesn’t even matter. “I’ll do what I want.”

Gojo cracks his back and stretches like a cat ready to pounce. “Sorry, but I’m gonna have to send you back to hell.”

“Yeah, no can do. How about you take my place?” Toji says, striking a ready stance. “Say hello to the devil for me.”

“The devil?!” Gojo cackles, visibly trembling with anticipation. “I’m lookin’ at him right now.”

Toji grits his teeth. He can almost taste the unrestrained energy running through his veins by now. “Enough talk.”

Gojo rips the sunglasses off his face and tosses them haphazardly into the snow. “Let’s dance, old man.”

Toji smirks. “Takes two to tango.”

In the same moment Toji blasts off the snow towards his target, Gojo flicks up a hand with a simple gesture and mutters something under his breath, then a thick veil of blackness drips across the night sky like a bottle of ink spilled into the atmosphere. It seeps into the midnight in oozing globs, hissing against the freezing temperatures with a heavy fog. The curtain repaints the dimly flickering stars into pristine condition, and Toji gets the distinct feeling of being trapped in the lion’s den. He jerks a hand behind his back to unsheath the katana, but Gojo doesn’t give him the chance to do it. 

There’s a crash, a blur of motion, then a swell of phosphorescent crimson bludgeons his chest and hurtles him backwards. The speed of the blow clubs him into a nearby tree which splinters upon impact, thousands of tiny wooden shards scattering beneath him and sticking into the back of his shirt in shallow holes. Toji’s back on his feet in a millionth of a second, yet even that supernatural speed is just barely enough to dodge another deadly wave of energy Gojo sends in his direction, his white hair blowing back to expose his forehead as the ethereum trembles.

Cursed Technique Reversal: Red. His mind doesn’t tell him so much as his muscles, the feeling torched into his fibers like an iron-hot brand. A repulsive force, inverting the energy in the air and turning it inside out until it can no longer withstand its own pressure. A short distance away, Gojo hangs suspended in the air like a puppet snipping its strings, a hollow and detached expression slipped across his soft features. He begins to form another hand sign, but now it’s Toji’s turn to not let him finish. He reaches into the bag Yuki gave him and grips the weapon with his fist, cold and rusted iron links digging into his palm. 

It’s a chain. Toji flings the hooked end out of the bag and watches it sail across the landscape, mysteriously lengthening beyond its original size as the far end of the metal flies away from him.

Huh. That’s convenient. 

He can’t aim it at Gojo himself, he’s too fast -- so instead Toji hooks it on the gutter of his apartment complex and swings himself around like a trapeze artist, letting the momentum of his unholy strength carry him towards the sorcerer in the sky. The flimsy material of the drain pipe warps under his weight so just before it gives out, Toji unclasps the chain with an explosive downward force to hurl himself towards his opponent. He only catches the flicker of trepidation across Gojo’s face from the corners of his eyes as he drives into his side with his heels, knocking the brat from his rightful place among the clouds.

At first, it seemed like a hit. Gojo spins around and rights himself to remain airborne as Toji plummets back towards the snow, crunching the delicate flakes beneath his feet until they compact into solid blocks of ice. But Gojo’s clothing isn’t displaced, nor does he seem to be in any pain; instead, his lips twist into an arrogant grin as he looks down on Toji with a derisive chuckle.

“Right, you never got a chance to really see this, huh?” he says breathlessly, cerulean eyes colder than the frigid winter around them. “This is the true difference between the two of us: Limitless. Honestly, it’s a little sad that our tiebreaker match will end like this because you can’t even touch me.”

Tiebreaker match? Toji didn’t know there was another one. Gojo likely meant it as an insult, but it’s almost comforting to know that some version of himself was able to defeat this kid. It imbues him with a surge of confidence that starts at the base of his core and pulses throughout every cell in his body, just long enough for him to scoff and shake off the way the brat is looking at him like an ant before a dragon. 

“We’ll see about that!”

Toji grasps the chain again and gyrates it around himself in a blinding cage while Gojo draws back to blast him with another shot of Red. Gojo launches the charge of energy at the same moment that Toji smacks the snow with the links in a powdery flush to dodge it, and the split second Gojo takes to recover from using his technique is more than enough time for Toji to throw the chain up and around the Infinity surrounding the sorcerer’s elbow like a lasso and launch himself upwards, echoes of starlight trailing behind him in his savage wake. 

The reverse pressure of Limitless rejecting his intrusion rockets Toji between the pinpricks of light puncturing the velvety sky. The brat looks up at him with some combination of confusion and awe as Toji throws his arms behind his head, a wild and wolfish grin overtaking his face and splitting the scar across his lips. When Gojo tries to change direction to avoid the impact, Toji wraps the chain around him again and drags him back to the marred earth alongside him, both of them colliding with the ice in a grinding bitter cold.

Toji yanks on the chain to pull the kid close and punch him in the chest but he’s stopped by Limitless again. His momentary frustration gives Gojo the chance to wriggle free of the chain and roundhouse kick him in the ribs with a blow fortified by raging and potent cursed energy, and Toji feels two of his ribs fracture against the sheer force of it. He whams into the riverbank and iced-over rocks crunch like frozen corpses under his weight. Toji staggers back to his feet and resumes his stance with bold determination. 

Gojo is glaring at him, half annoyed and half amused. Molten magma swirls in Toji’s chest like a volcano ready to erupt and drown a city, and all he can think of as he surges towards the sorcerer again is Maki.

He’s not gonna let Gojo leave her without a father, not again. He’s not fighting to save himself this time. 

He’s fighting to save his daughter. 

Toji gets it now. Those wild stories about average mothers lifting up a truck to save her toddler trapped beneath, tales of a teenage brother diving without hesitation into deadly whitewater rapids to rescue his drowning sister. Feats that should be impossible, are impossible. But when it’s family at stake, nothing so petty as human limits stand a fucking chance. So Toji rises, draws up from beneath, and pulls on the feeling with all his might the way he would if he had nothing left but needed more anyway.

He unsheathes the katana and casts its ivory scabbard into the snow behind him. Gojo looks at the blade as if he thinks the whole thing is funny and doesn’t even bother dodging this time, instead smirking at Toji as he prepares to strike.

“Seriously, this again? I already said you’ll never be able to get through--”

But then, Toji brings down the blade, and Limitless shatters into infinite pieces. Gojo can only watch in abject horror as Toji severs his left arm clean off his shoulder, blood gushing off the amputated joint in nauseating spurts.

“What?” he breathes, and Toji can’t tell if he even registers the crippling pain over the shock of losing his limb in the first place. His arm hits the ground with a sickening thud and before Gojo can react, Toji picks it up and hurls it into the Arakawa, and it distracts Gojo just long enough for Toji to impale the katana brutally into his chest.

The stab just barely misses his heart, so Toji slots it further into him and grinds it against his ribcage with the dreadful scrape of blade against bone. Gojo gasps and hacks out a rush of blood from his gaping mouth, drenching his neck and jawline with viscous crimson. He lacerates his remaining hand into a mangled mess in a desperate attempt to claw the blade from his chest, but Toji is unrelenting. Clots of red drip from the crystalline blade with the glory of death in revolting waterfalls. 

When Toji finally yanks the katana out of his body, he doesn’t give the brat a moment to rest. He slashes across his chest and the arteries on Gojo’s collarbone spew thin sprays of blood as Toji stomps on his ankle, snapping it with a nasty crack. Toji drives a steel-toed boot directly into his sternum and knocks all the breath from his mutilated lungs, sending him tumbling across the snow in a boneless heap, staining the pure white snow with the color of violence.

Honestly, it’s poetic irony; hearing Gojo’s wet coughs into the ice while missing the same limb he robbed Toji of during their fight, his chest almost equally butchered and gouged out as what he once did to him. 

He wonders just how much he looked back then like Gojo does now. Their places are reversed, Toji standing tall above his crumpled body.

Toji supposes he has a few moments to spare, so in them he decides to survey the katana. Just how was it able to cut through Limitless? He knows he felt an arcane surge of something, as if the blade itself was responding directly to the strength of his convictions. But what had he desired? He wanted to win, sure, but what he wanted far, far more was the ability to protect his daughter; to keep her safe, to be her guardian, to have enough strength such that no force in the world could possibly hurt her, and all of a sudden Toji understands.

A blade forged to kill is one thing. But nothing could be more powerful than a sword made to protect.

Gojo is still writhing on the ground, pristine white locks dripping vibrant vermillion. Toji saunters over to him and raises the katana above his head, ready to bring it down on him. He sure looks like he’s registering the pain now, and there are tears tracing down his cheeks Toji doesn’t think he even knows are there. At the last moment Gojo raises a hand and a flashing neon glow throws Toji off his feet, Gojo’s knees buckling weakly as he pushes back to a standing position.

He hacks out something halfway between a sputter and a chuckle, a few splats of red mottling the space at his feet.

“You’re a monster!” Gojo cackles with a wide grin, and Toji can’t tell if he’s actually thrilled over the challenge or just delirious from the pain. “But you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy!”

“Music to my ears,” Toji says with an equally unhinged smile as he wipes the blade clean against his white shirt, staining his clothing with the brat’s dirty blood. “Cuz I’m just gettin’ started!”

Gojo’s ankle creaks back into place and he inhales a deep breath that becomes smoother as he draws in more air, and Toji can only assume he’s performing some sort of emergency triage on himself. Gojo springs up again with an aerial salto to return to the safety of the skies.

Back in the air, the kid raises the hand he has left. “Cursed Technique Lapse Maximum Cursed Energy Output: Blue!”

Beside him swirls an orb of luminescent cobalt, trawling the clouds into misty spirals that compress into a cyclone. Soon, even the air itself is caught in the unforgiving vortex with the inescapable pull of a black hole, the wintertime itself dragged mercilessly into his event horizon. Gojo hovers dead-center in the eye of the storm, violent zephyrs whipping his white hair that beams brighter than the snow below, its strands sticking to his temples from ice, blood, tears, maybe all the above. Soon, the gravitational pull becomes so strong that it draws condensation from the heavy clouds, and hail pours down like a carpet of bullets that flood the wreckage left in the aftermath of their battle. 

It’s then Toji decides the brat officially isn’t human. No living, breathing person could ever create a snowstorm.

Even as the snow below him turns to slush from the force of Gojo’s technique, Toji’s feet stay rooted firmly upon the ground. Ice plummets down like daggers from the dynamo, so Toji dodges each volley with nimble reflexes. Toji’s trying to steer him away from the residences, because he’s got an elderly neighbor who makes apple pies Maki and Yuuji both love -- but Gojo is the embodiment of mindless destruction. He hurls down outbursts of cursed energy with no regard for his surroundings, razing rocks and trees by the riverbank into pulverized ash. A window shatters, one that belongs to a teenage boy not much younger than Gojo himself. 

He wonders how much of the brat is even mentally here right now, as he teeters in the air with his hand digging into his bloodied and empty shoulder, almost as if to check that there’s really nothing there anymore. His eyes are dull and glazed over; there’s virtually no expression on his face as blood leaks from the space below his heart onto his tattered clothing. 

His white lashes flutter weakly as another crackle of Red slams into Toji’s stomach, then he snaps back to reality.

“Hey! Remember this one?!” Gojo shouts, flicking his hand out in front of him as hysteria returns to his face. “Hollow Technique: Purple!”

“Fuck!” Toji twists on his ankles to dodge but the deluge of energy is too fast for him to fully avoid it. The technique carves out a chunk of his back -- not enough to be fatal, but enough to drench his shirt in a bloodbath, painful heat searing across his nerve endings like a blast furnace. Gojo prepares to repeat the technique, so Toji sprints back towards the center of the landscape.

Oh, no you don’t! He lunges towards the chain he threw aside and wraps it around the brat’s ankle, dragging him out of the atmosphere and bashing him against the bridge crossing the river. It collapses on top of him and buries him beneath the wreckage, icy waves swallowing him whole while concrete cracks the disjointed slabs of ice coating the surface of the water. Gojo’s only submerged for a few seconds before jetting out from the rubble, using the chain against Toji as he pulls them together.

“Chain of a Thousand Miles, huh?” Gojo pants, half-frozen water plastering his hair against his face. “Thought I broke this thing.”

Toji flings him back across the river, throwing the chain aside and jabbing at himself with his thumb. “Yeah, you thought you broke this thing too,” he cackles. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got all that great of a track record!”

Gojo soars towards him and tries to hit him point-blank with another Hollow Purple, this time aiming straight between his eyes. Toji bends his back and cleaves the katana into the soft flesh of the boy’s right hip, gashing out a gruesome line down to his knee. The kid can’t hold back a cry of anguish and just barely has the strength to kick Toji away before crashing against the ground. Toji can practically taste sweet victory on his tongue until his gut churns with something almost like premonition.

This uneasiness...

It’s just a hint of a feeling, nothing he can name. It creeps up from the sealed-off chasms of his brain and whispers doubt into his muscles, pressing against the dark memories locked inside him like poking on a bruise. The warm blood on his back tickles his skin as if trying to give him a warning, a reminder -- of what, Toji couldn’t say.

No...everything’s okay.

Toji’s winning, isn’t he? Isn't he? Gojo devastated him last time, but not today. The level of Toji’s might now versus then isn’t so small as an order of magnitude, it’s on a cosmic scale. Toji’s always been superhuman, but human doesn’t cut it anymore. He’s some sort of being , he supposes. If Gojo is the god of heavens, maybe Toji is the king of hell. They cancel each other out, shackle one another to this ugly and mortal earth by their own antipathy. 

Then Gojo rises back to his feet and forms a simple sign with his remaining hand, and Toji can’t help the awful feeling that history is about to repeat itself.

“Domain Expansion: Unlimited Void.”

And all at once, everything whites out. The landscape falls silent around him as he slips into nothingness, first by a blinding light then into a celestial kaleidoscope of imaginary colors. His whole body goes numb as he’s dragged across a vast cosmic wasteland, into the empty expanse of the great beyond. He can’t tell if he’s at the edge of the world or the center of the universe -- all he knows is that this is the beginning of the end. It is a place of unfinished fates and half-written destinies, filled with the words of the dead and those still to be born, sounding like every voice he has yet to hear.

Ancient gods whisper old wisdom that stops just short of enlightenment, speaking of joyful tragedy and beautiful horrors; it forms a near-complete puzzle of intricate tessellations in natural harmony, containing as many pieces as grains of sand on a shoreline with only a single one missing. It fills his brain with contradictions until he’s spinning at the speed of light while at a dead stop, blazing with the heat of a sun at absolute zero. It is a sacred and unholy place, as Toji stands face to face with the hollow eye of eternity, boring through his soul into his past, present, and future. 

All Toji can move are the pupils of his eyes, so he glances up as the brat exhales a shaky breath in front of him.

“You know, I really gotta thank you,” Gojo says with a contented sigh. “It was because of you that I learned Reverse Cursed Technique last time, and here we are again. I’ve only done this once before, and it totally sucked. I’d say this is a lot better, don’t you think?” The kid looks up at him with a deceptively tender smile and places his hand gently over Toji’s heart. “To show my gratitude, I’ll make sure to give you a proper funeral this time.”

If Toji could move at all, he would kick himself. Fuck, what have I done? The longer he remains, the more he feels the madness melting away his consciousness, draining him of his life force. He can feel his trapped memories rattling the bars of their cages like hostages on a sinking ship, begging for freedom, desperate not to drown alongside him. 

Something is pulling away at him now. Toji knows what dying feels like, and it is this. He lets his dark lashes flutter shut, his body rapidly growing cold. Images flicker across his mind in his final moments, and he swears he can almost feel a tiny hand grab a hold of one of his pant legs, sitting beside him on the floor of the old warehouse.

“My creepy cousin thinks you shouldn’t have lost,” Maki is saying, and Toji looks on in a distant, detached manner as he watches himself wave her off.

“Yeah, well your cousin is wrong,” his image replies. “Honestly? I had it coming. I think I was supposed to die.”

Maki is silent for a moment before shaking her head, pulling him closer. “No,” she counters. “You weren’t.”

He reaches out for her but she slips just through his fingertips, only for him to find her infant form cradled in his arms in the dim lights of the hospital. She sniffles softly against his chest so he wraps the blanket around her tighter, unsure of how to convey just how much he adores her, that from this moment on she’s his entire world, that no matter what he’ll do anything to protect her. 

A little hand peeks out from under the cotton and clasps onto his finger, and instantly Toji knows there is nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for this.

“Toji, you’re spacing out again.”

When Toji first found out he had a daughter, he was terrified. Now, he loves her so much he can barely breathe.

“What should we name our baby?”

Toji opens his eyes, heavy-lidded as he meets Gojo’s gaze. He draws in a deep breath.

“Maki.”

And like crunching granite or breaking bone, something cracks open, breaking the shackles the sorcerer has on his body. He surges off the bottomless well of infinity, soars towards the cloudy confines of the universe, and shatters through the walls of Unlimited Void and back onto the snow outside.

It’s another moment before Gojo fully collapses his domain and follows, but he does so with some twisted mix of frustration, confusion, and fear stamped across his face. Expanding his domain must’ve burned through his energy because his wounds are weeping blood again, and he’s panting like a dog trapped in a hot car. Toji internally curses himself when he doesn’t have the strength to stop the brat from fishing his arm out of the river and reattaching it with a sickening squelch, twisting the amputated limb like a broken doll fixed by a careless child.

“Asshole,” Gojo exhales with a deranged look, wriggling his fingers with unshrouded relief. “This is totally gonna scar.”

Toji rips off the top seam of his shirt to reveal the stitches around his own shoulder, frayed threads crosshatching above the healed wound. “Great, we can match!”

Gojo tears towards him again and the ground splits below him in an icy chasm as he grabs a hold of Toji’s shirt and drags them both to the river. The kid plunges him into the Arakawa in some desperate last-ditch attempt to drown him, and even in the murky water he can see the crazed look in Gojo’s eyes as he bashes Toji against the mossy rocks of the riverbed. Blood thrums in Toji’s head against the biting cold, but the frigid temperature wakes him up enough to knock the kid off of him and clear out of the water, Toji bolting after him to slam him back into the snow that breaks around them in a flurry of sparkles and icy glitter.

They continue to exchange blows, but there almost isn’t any point to it. They’re both leagues below their prime, breaths raspy and aberrant, as they pull up energy neither of them possess anymore, making muscles move that shouldn’t just because they refuse to lose to each other , not again. The smell of carnage reeks in the air. The winter landscape looks like a hallowed battleground, and there isn’t a single thing in Toji’s line of sight that isn’t broken -- himself and Gojo included.

It’s not even a question of one or the other. Neither of them is going to make it out of this alive. Toji doesn’t know how, but they’re evenly matched; too evenly so. If one of them dies, he’ll take the other down with him. They’re going to kill each other here if one of them doesn’t throw in the towel, and he’d be willing to bet anything he owns that Gojo would sooner die than concede. Toji snarls with frustration as a similar resentment builds inside him, until he hears his own voice from the last time they fought echo in his ears.

“I thought I had set aside such petty pride.”

Toji blinks. He’s right; why would his own self-affirmation even matter? How could he leave his daughter without a father for something so worthless as satisfying his spiteful sense of pride? To be proud of neither himself nor others -- he chose that path, didn’t he? 

This time, he will not deviate from his true self. He can’t remember what his original last words were, but he knows he won’t be choosing any new ones for a long, long time.

Maybe it was always going to come down to this. Gojo’s still trying to claw him past the rainbow bridge and through gilded gates across the river styx, and Toji’s swinging his sword like the grim reaper’s scythe when someone’s time has come. It’s a series of infuriating narrow misses and the gap closes just a little more each time. It’s an astral tragedy, when heaven and hell collide, trapping them both in purgatory, just the two of them, for all eternity.

Toji can’t afford eternity. Maki will wake up in the morning. Maki will wake up, and she’ll come home.

And Toji is Maki’s home. 

Time to end this.

“Enough!” Toji thunders, wrenching the fabric of the brat’s ruined collar into an iron grasp. “I’m not gonna let you kill me again and make me leave my kid behind!”

Gojo pauses. There’s a flicker of confusion across his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “Don’t worry,” he says with a condescending little laugh, “I’ll figure something out.”

Toji flares. “Like hell you will! You really think I’d let my last act be entrusting the safety of my child to you?!”

And with that, Gojo’s feral expression utterly collapses, and the fight goes out of him all at once.

In that moment, he doesn't look like a special grade sorcerer, like the one who blew a hole through Toji’s side and ended his life, like the most powerful being on the planet to exist, maybe ever. He doesn’t look like a near-god walking, like an archangel in the flesh, like a divine being perched in an ivory tower looking down upon the earth below.

He looks like he’s about to cry. 

“...Huh?” he says in a small voice. “What’d you just say?”

Toji shoves him backwards. “If you ever have kids, you’ll understand.”

Gojo winces. “I do have kids!” he blurts out, though he looks like he regrets it as soon as he says it. Nevertheless, he continues, “I’d burn the world to the ground for them. So I understand.”

“That so?” Toji scoffs. “And you’d be fine with leavin’ them behind? You must’ve realized it, Six-Eyes. This was a one-way trip. You weren’t gonna make it outta here alive.”

“I-I would’ve,” he stammers in response, but he doesn’t even look like he’s convinced himself of that, let alone Toji.

Yeah, right. “Sure, have fun lyin’ to yourself, I guess. How about I rip your heart out while you’re mullin’ it over?”

Surprisingly, the brat actually takes a step back at that, though Toji’s not sure he even realizes that he did it. He pointlessly straightens his wrecked collar, a useless gesture in some feeble attempt to steady himself. He clears his throat, wiping a thin trail of congealed blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. “So...we’ve both got kids we don’t wanna leave behind.”

Toji gulps. “Guess so.”

There’s an awkward silence that drags on for at least half a minute, each of them swaying on their feet as their bodies both slowly start to register the grievous injuries covering them from head to toe. Toji’s not sure when or if he’ll ever be able to lay on his back again, and his own stitches itch terribly just from looking at the sloppy seam between Gojo’s torso and his reattached arm, crusted over with ice and oozing with mud and grime.

“So you had another kid,” Gojo finally says.

Toji quirks a brow into his messy fringe. “The hell do you mean another? I’ve only got one.”

Gojo narrows his eyes. “Huh?”

Wow, seriously? “Yeah, and it took fuckin’ forever to find my kid after we fought. Thanks for wiping my memories when you blew a hole through my side, by the way. Been a real hassle to piece things together since then.”

Gojo’s jaw drops. “Wait, do you even remember me?!”

“Well, vaguely,” Toji replies, and that’s really quite the understatement but he doesn’t want to give Gojo the satisfaction. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, there isn’t much I do remember. You have any idea how much it sucked to not even know that I have a daughter?”

“You think you have--” Gojo holds up a hand as if to slow down their conversation that for some god-forsaken reason, seems to be hitting him like a runaway train. “--a daughter?!”

“Uh, yes?” Toji wavers. “The hell is that look for?”

Gojo shakes his head. “What’s her name?” 

“Maki,” Toji answers slowly.

“Maki?” Gojo repeats. “Your child...is Maki Zen’in?”

“That’s what I just said, idiot,” Toji grouses. “Why?”

Gojo exhales with something strangely like relief, the tension slipping out of his wounded shoulders. “N-nothing. It’s just that my son is--” Gojo cuts himself off with a breathless laugh. “Y’know what? Never mind.”

Toji cocks his head. “Oh? So you’ve got a son?”

“Yeah, a boy and a girl, actually,” Gojo says, and there’s something totally undefinable in his expression.

Toji snorts. “Knocked up some poor lady, huh? Guess you seem like the heartbreaker type.”

“Nah.” Gojo chuckles to himself, like he’s laughing at a joke only he knows the punchline to. “They’re adopted.”

Huh, that’s interesting. He really didn’t strike Toji as the type of person to do something like that. Besides, the brat’s gotta be what, nineteen? Man, kids these days and their...kids, apparently.

More silence follows. Toji lets out a ragged breath; Gojo folds his arms, or rather, he tries to. His reattached one still barely seems responsive and instead falls limp at his side. “Anyways, what have you been up to since we last ran into each other?” the brat asks, as if they’re old friends casually catching up rather than mortal enemies who were trying to kill each other not even five minutes ago.

There isn’t a single cell in his body that wants to actually have a conversation with this asshole, so Toji just shrugs. “Y’know, the usual.”

“The usual?” Gojo repeats with an irritating smirk. God, Toji wants to sock him in his stupid face so fucking bad. “How would you know what ‘the usual’ even is if you have amnesia?”

Toji scowls at him. “Oi, respect your elders.”

Gojo gives him a crooked smile. “But I don’t respect you.” 

Toji just barely resists the urge to scrub his hands over his face in exhaustion, only held back by the literal exhaustion in his body weighing him down. “Yeah, right back at ya.”

Gojo pauses for a moment. “So you really don’t remember anything from before we fought?”

Toji heaves a sigh. If they’re not going to kill each other anymore, why is this jackass still bothering him? “Not really, no.”

The kid perks up. “What’s your day job?”

Toji frowns. “Don’t worry about it.”

To his credit, he does not seem worried about it. Rather, Toji can practically see a lightbulb go off in that empty head of his, and he can tell Gojo’s just had a real shitty idea.

“Work with me.”

Whatever Toji was expecting, it sure as hell wasn’t that. “Fucking-- what?!”

“Yeah, work with me!” Gojo says excitedly, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet like a broken jack-in-the-box. “Ever since my old partner left, the higher-ups have been saying I need someone to keep me in check, but everyone is too weak and useless. No one else can even touch me,” he says with a manic expression, and he’s entirely too giddy when he adds, “You cut off my arm.”

Toji prods at his bloody bicep. “And I’ll do it again, if you don’t back the hell off of me.”

But Gojo just tips his head back and cackles. “C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

The brat stares off into the distance in consideration for a moment before turning back to Toji. “Yeah.”

Well, at least he’s self-aware. “Sorry kid, but you’re gonna have to find someone else. There’s no way in hell I’d ever voluntarily spend my time with such a cocky, annoying, infuriating--”

“Whatever you’re making now, I bet the higher-ups will pay you a hundred times over.”

“Done.”

Chapter Text

All things considered, it’s not the worst possible outcome for the fight.

Most importantly, Toji is alive, and Maki still has a father. Maybe he could’ve gone without Gojo being alive too, but hey, he’s got kids, right? Plus they’re adopted, which probably means their real daddy is six feet under already, and Toji wouldn’t want to be the one paying the therapy bills if that happened again. Toji still hasn’t really begun to process the career offer, but if the kid’s even half-right about the kind of money he’d make from it, it’s just too damn good to refuse.

Besides, Toji would be lying if he said he didn’t desperately need a new job. He’s so goddamn tired of sneaking out at night, dodging questions whenever Maki asks about work, and dumping bleach in his shower to cut through the bloodstains on the pristine porcelain. This isn’t exactly what he had in mind for a replacement, but he’s not in a position to be picky about it. At least this way he gets to use his best -- more like, his only -- skillset in a more protected and organized manner. Really, it’s probably the best alternative out there.

...that said, Toji’s having a hell of a tough time gulping down the regret as he watches Gojo meander around his apartment as if he owns the place, tracking dirt, blood, and slush onto his (real!) hardwood floors in gross muddy footprints.

“Oi, I don’t remember invitin’ you inside,'' Toji huffs as the brat drags his ridiculously blue eyes across the walls of his residence. “You better fix my door before my daughter gets back from her sleepover.”

Gojo blinks at him dumbly. “Huh? How am I supposed to do that?”

“I dunno, use your sorcery shit or whatever.”

“Uh, that’s not how that works.”

God, then what’s the fucking point? “Then figure it out, asshole. I’m not explainin’ to her why it looks like a crappy zombie apocalypse movie got filmed on our front lawn.”

But Gojo just shrugs at him. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

“Oh, I’ll show you a ‘you’ problem,” Toji growls. “I have neighbors, ya know. How the hell am I supposed to explain all the weird magical shit they just saw?”

Gojo flaps a hand dismissively. “Relax, they didn’t see a thing. That’s what the curtain’s for! I’ll have my people stop by and clean up before sunrise.” He folds his arms weakly. “So take a chill pill, guy.”

The only pills Toji wants to take right now are painkillers. “And who would ‘your people’ be, exactly?”

The brat taps a finger on his chin a few times before responding. “Uh, if you see a real gloomy guy with middle-parted black hair and glasses, just leave him alone and let him do his thing. Don’t worry, though. He’s super used to cleaning up my messes!”

Toji suddenly feels a deep sense of camaraderie with this nameless stranger. “Whatever.” At least he won’t have to come up with some flimsy excuse for why the snow outside is more red than white now. Maybe Yuuji would believe him if he said a ketchup truck exploded, but he’d probably be the only person in the universe who would buy it.

Gojo keeps teetering around the apartment like a rickety wind-up toy, stopping every few moments to try to hide how much he’s stumbling. He peeks his nosy head past Maki’s door frame. “This your kid’s room?”

Setting his jaw, “Step one foot in there, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

“Ooh, scary,” Gojo drawls, but he listens anyway. Toji wonders how much of his bravado is really just for show. Eh, best not to dive into the kid’s psyche. That feels like it would be a slippery slope he couldn’t climb back up from. 

The kid walks away and exhaustion seems to get the best of him for a moment, because he steps in a particularly wet footprint of his and almost slips right over onto his bony ass. Heh. Serves him right.

But as much as he’d love to see the brat eat hardwood, he’d rather not have to scrub off a body-shaped splat in his living room. He marches over to Gojo and grabs a fistful of his shredded shirt, openly reveling in the split-second panic that flashes across his face. He drags him to the kitchen like a ragdoll and plops him down into one of the barstools. The kid makes a face similar to when Maki and Yuuji tried to give a stray cat a shower.

“New challenge. Sit still for like, five whole seconds,” Toji demands with an exasperated sigh. The brat starts fidgeting with a loose button on his sleeve cuff almost immediately, and Toji snorts. “Whoa, think you made it three. I was betting on two seconds, to be honest. Tell ya what, I’ll give you a participant trophy.”

Gojo sticks out his tongue at him. Nice, real mature. “Hey, gimme some water. I need to replenish my fluids.”

Lord, what an awful sentence. “Fluids,” Toji grumbles. Is it too late to drown him? Toji wants to drown him. Still, he grabs a glass from his cabinet and fills it with tap water, plunking it down in front of him with a little splash.

“Order up, valued customer.” Toji gives back a toothy grin when the brat shoots him an annoyed glare. He gulps down the water surprisingly fast, grimacing at the way some of it trickles down his neck. 

Honestly, Toji can’t deny that he also feels pretty gross. The blood on his chest is starting to crust over and his back must look like a bowl of Spaghetti-O’s. He quickly darts back into his bathroom to grab some soap and shampoo then returns to the kitchen to start washing up over the sink. No way he’s trusting the brat alone in his house while he takes a shower. He’d say he doesn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, but he can actually throw this fucker pretty far.

Gojo is looking at the soap wistfully. It’d be a little sad if Toji gave even one iota of a shit about him. 

The brat squirms, and Toji rolls his eyes. “Get over here if you’re just gonna stare at me all bug-eyed, weirdo. Not like I want you to be drippin’ your insides all over my apartment, either.”

The kid perks up, as if he wasn’t expecting that. After another beat, he pads over to the sink as Toji steps aside to towel his hair dry with one of his dish rags. Fantastic, another thing to add to the laundry list of items he needs to replace after tonight.

Still. Look at him, being all courteous and considerate to the kid who almost killed him, twice. He seriously deserves a medal. Toji picks up the soap and whams it on the countertop beside him.

...and of course Gojo makes him instantly regret it. “Ugh, why do you use 5 in 1 shampoo?! That’s murder on your hair follicles!”

“What the fuck is a follicle?!”

Gojo groans as he begins lathering then pulls a face as he inspects his soapy hair. “Seriously! How do you live like this?”

Jackass. Toji folds his arms. “Live like what?”

Gojo picks up the bottle and thrusts it in Toji’s face, jabbing a soapy finger at the label as if that somehow answers the question. “This!” He slams it back down beside him and resumes rinsing out his old-man hair until the water runs clear. He whips up his head and shakes out his locks like a dog after a bath, getting little speckles of water all over his entire kitchen. Fuck, Toji really wants to squeeze that holier-than-thou attitude right out of this asshole. 

“Do you have a blowdryer?” he has the audacity to ask.

Is this guy for real? “Nah, but how about you go climb into the dryer in the laundry room? I’ll put it on a fluff cycle for ya.”

Gojo levels him a flat, unimpressed look as Toji cracks up at his own joke. If the brat can’t appreciate Toji’s superior sense of humor, that’s on him.

He plucks up another dishrag and rings his white hair as dry as he can get it -- which is to say, not very. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you now.”

Already?! Toji bristles. “Oi! This was your idea! And it hasn’t even been fifteen minutes!”

Besides, it’s not like anything is official yet -- Toji’s already not looking forward to meeting whoever these higher-ups are. Still, he’s got a weird feeling that denying Gojo just isn’t something people do.

Well. He’ll have to give the kid a taste of his own medicine sometime. Preferably when they’re not both slowly bleeding out in his kitchen.

Which in itself is getting real concerning, real fast. Toji is definitely starting to feel dizzy from the blood loss now, and the brat doesn’t honestly seem like he’s doing that much better.

“Gimme your phone so I can call my doctor friend over here,” Gojo says, as if reading his mind. God, what a creep. “She basically never sleeps, so she should be able to get here within the next half hour or so. So like, don’t keel over and die before then, or something.”

“I should be the one sayin’ that to you,” Toji replies. The kid seriously looks like he’s been put through a blender. “Why don’t you use your own damn phone?”

Gojo fishes it out of his pocket with a sour face and waves it back and forth like a pendulum. “You fried it when you threw me into a half-frozen river, genius. Take responsibility.”

Toji huffs out his nostrils and rolls his eyes. Eh, fair enough. He flits back to his room to get his phone from his nightstand -- shit, he forgot to charge it. Whatever, eight percent should be sufficient. Before he hands over the device, he shoots a brief text to Yuki summarizing the fight and its outcome. Seconds later, she sends a gibberish keysmash that can’t mean anything good.

He’s not sure how much he trusts the brat’s doctor friend, so he asks Yuki to stop by so she can be the one to heal him instead. You know, because she did such a good job of it before. Definitely no other reason. 

Before he heads back into the kitchen, he returns the katana to Maki’s closet after rinsing off the last of Gojo’s blood. It still faintly smells of copper, but he hopes (hopes, hopes) it’ll fade long before she ever has to use it.

He tosses his phone at the sorcerer when he re-enters his line of sight and Gojo snatches it effortlessly out of the air. He begins furiously tapping at the screen while stifling a laugh. “Your phone is shitty.”

“You’re shitty,” Toji shoots back. He doesn’t care if he sounds like a five year old. “I’m not buyin’ you a new phone, by the way. All of this is still your fault.”

Gojo’s face twists. “It’s my fault you threw me into a river?!”

“Oh, absolutely it is.” He hops onto the countertop and lets his head rest against the cabinets, eyelids fluttering shut. His breathing slows and he remains silent for a few minutes; he can feel his heartbeat shift from heavy thuds to a light tapping and his body slumps as some of the residual tension slips from his shoulders. It’s a little longer before Gojo speaks up again.

“Hey, old man. You dyin’ over there?” It’s not quite concern in his voice, but Toji can’t really think of anything better to call it, either.

“Tch. You wish,” he grumbles. There’s a cold breeze blowing in through the empty hole where his door should be and Toji has to fight back a shiver. He taps his fingernails against the marble as the two of them wait quietly for their respective medics to arrive. 

Yuki gets there first, beating Gojo’s doctor friend. Toji can’t help but feel a weird sense of pride at that. She strolls inside with his door propped casually in one of her arms and a smirk across her face. “Hey, hot stuff. Think you dropped this.”

Heh. Toji flashes her a smile. “Thanks, sweetheart. Was wonderin’ where that went,” he says. Gojo’s eyes widen as he looks back and forth between the two of them, then his lips spread into a smug, knowing grin that Toji really doesn’t want to analyze.

“Satoru Gojo! Been quite a long time,” Yuki greets with a quick wave as she sets a few medical supplies on the counter beside Toji. “I never got to ask you this before.” She flips her flawless golden hair over her shoulder and switches her hips suggestively, striking a pose that has Toji darting his eyes away before he can embarrass the hell out of himself. “What kind of woman is your type?”

It takes a second to click, but when it does, Gojo pulls a face. “Woman? Pfft, no thanks. Sorry, but I don’t swing that way.”

Toji’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. Oh. Well, love is love.

After a moment, Yuki lets out a hearty laugh. “That’s quite the answer! I approve.”

Gojo waggles his fingers in a little jazz-hands gesture, as if to say he couldn’t care less whether she approved or not. Yuki washes her hands with warm water and begins to inspect Toji’s wounds. A faint flicker of concern knits into her brows, but when he meets her eyes again her expression is a blank sheet. She looks between him and Gojo again as she begins unpacking her supplies. “I always knew you two would get along. Didn’t I say it before? I bet you’ll be the best of friends before ya know it.”

Gojo and Toji exchange glances with a scowl then turn back to Yuki. “He can’t stand me,” they say in perfect unison, and-- god dammit. Yuki throws back her head and cracks up.

Soon after that, Gojo’s doctor friend arrives -- Shoko , he calls her. They immediately start talking in hushed voices. Toji could eavesdrop with his heightened senses if he wanted to, but his attention is quickly commanded elsewhere when Yuki starts wiping away the blood on his back with some infernal chemical that stings like a million fiery needles.

“Christ, Yuki. A little warning woulda been nice,” Toji hisses. 

Yuki flicks him on the shoulder. “Oh come on, big guy. You can take it.” There’s a hint of something else in her tone that Toji has to grind his teeth to ignore, then he feels her cursed energy wash over his body like freshwater waves at low tide. The pain begins to ebb from his muscles as a deep sense of calm flows throughout his veins, cotton-soft and mountain spring cool. Damn, he’d forgotten how nice this feels.

“He really got you good, huh?” she says with a little laugh, her fingertips ghosting over his skin as she treats his wounds with her gentle cursed energy. Toji keeps his single remaining brain cell from combusting through sheer force of willpower. 

“Hey, gimme some credit. Least I’m not the one who lost any limbs this time around.”

Yuki just chuckles and shakes her head. “I guess. But seriously, the way you’re lookin’ right now reminds me way too much of when I first scraped you off the dirt over two years ago. A lot has changed since then, y’know? Before I knew it, I totally never wanted to see you like that ever again.” She finishes applying the technique, and there’s something in her voice that’s way too fond for him to process. “Toji,” she says softly, meeting his eyes with an undefinable warmth in her gaze. “I’m really glad you’re okay.” 

Barely pushing past the stirring in his chest, “Yuki, I--”

“What are you two lovebirds talking about?” Gojo cuts in.

Toji almost flushes at the nickname alone, and definitely reddens when Yuki just waves it off without bothering to deny it. Toji clears his throat in an attempt to pull himself together and turns to glare at the meddling brat over his shoulder. “We’re plotting your murder.”

Gojo snaps and shoots him with finger-guns. Man, what the hell? “Ooh, try poison. I eat so many sweets, I bet I’d never notice.”

What? Toji frowns. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“You really wanna start with that? And here I thought you’d actually want some sleep after all this,” Shoko answers instead. Oh man, Toji likes her already. Gojo gasps and clasps a hand over his chest in mock betrayal.

“Shoko!” he whines. “You traitor!”

Shoko snorts. “As if you ever had anything against traitors.”

Now the kid actually looks like he’s been smacked. “Aww, come on, seriously? Too soon!”

Yuki laughs too, like she’s somehow also in on the joke. Toji feels a little left out, but whatever. Amnesia kinda gets you used to that. The two pairs each talk amongst themselves for a little while longer before Shoko tugs Gojo to his feet and begins to lead him outside the apartment, fucking finally. 

Gojo peers over his shoulder before he can shuffle out the barely-fixed door. “Hey, I’ll get in touch soon so we can work out the details. What’s your number?”

Is he for real? Toji quirks a brow. “Uh, I’m not giving you that.”

“Then I’ll stop by your house.”

“How about no?”

“You can’t hide from me, I know where you live.”

Toji sighs, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Y’know, you’re a real fuckin’ weirdo.”

Bur Gojo just barks out a laugh. “Whatever. See ya soon.”

Toji sighs and deflates against the kitchen cabinets, and with resignation that feels a little like surrender, he replies, “Yeah, see you later, I guess.”

Shoko and Gojo head out together after that, to god knows where. Toji honestly couldn’t care less. Yuki hangs around for a little longer as Toji tells her in more detail about the fight, and despite not being half as good a storyteller as she is, she still hangs onto his every word. She bids him farewell sometime past 4AM, and as soon as she’s gone, Toji passes out on the kitchen counter.

Luckily, Gojo’s unfortunate colleague actually does a decent job of tidying up the surrounding area, so Maki is none the wiser when Toji brings her home from Yuuji’s -- though she does comment that he seems more tired than usual. Fortunately, she doesn’t press for details; she never does, because she’s a goddamn angel. As soon as he’s not broke, he’s gonna spoil her so bad. 

It’s another week before Gojo finally stops by. Thankfully, it’s midmorning, while Maki is still at school. Toji’s been lazing around doing absolutely nothing since their fight, because he honestly deserves a goddamn break. Hey, a near-brush with death will do that to a person. When the burn phone he uses for jobs runs out of power, he doesn’t bother plugging it back in. 

“Yo,” Gojo chirps when Toji opens the door with a scowl. “Miss me?”

Toji snorts. “About as much as anyone can miss a pit viper, I guess,” he shoots back. The kid’s got a new pair of sunglasses now, identical to his old ones. Toji steps aside to let him in, because apparently they’re past invitations already. 

“So I talked to the higher-ups,” he begins. Toji’s almost thankful the brat doesn’t bother with small-talk first. “I think I’ve pretty much got ‘em where I want them, but they do still want to meet you first before we start working together.”

Yeah, and there’s another thing Toji’s still wary about. “And what exactly does ‘working together’ even mean?”

Gojo waves his hand in a gesture Toji assumes was supposed to look nonchalant, but instead it just looks stumbling. “Y’know, stuff like going on dangerous missions together, traveling the world to investigate curse-related deaths and hunting down the culprits like an awesome buddy cop duo, fighting the toughest cursed spirits and curse users alike that would kill literally anyone except us, and training together so we can get used to each others’ fighting styles!”

God, that sounds like hell on earth. Think of the money, think of the money, think of the money. “How fun,” Toji says drily. “Look, I can barely contain my excitement. Fork over the contract so I can sign it with my tears of joy.”

Surprisingly, Gojo actually laughs at that, and it sounds strangely close to genuine. “It’ll be fine! C’mon, I’ve got a driver out front ready to take us there.”

Ooh, a private chauffeur? There’s something Toji could get used to. He follows Gojo down the staircase to a sleek black car that looks like it cost at least half as much as Maki’s katana. A man steps out of the driver’s seat and opens the door for him with a polite bow. Middle-parted black hair and glasses, Toji notes. Must be the ‘people’ Gojo mentioned earlier.

The man looks...a little terrified of him, but Toji supposes he gets that. He’s not fully sure why, but he decides to blame Gojo for it and moves on.

“Aww, Ijichi! You don’t have to look so afraid!” Gojo crows. “He won’t kill you! Probably. I mean, he totally could, if he wanted to. And who knows if I’d be fast enough to stop him? But relax, you’re absolutely fine. Again, probably.”

Toji exhales slowly. Fuck, is this what his life is gonna be now? “I’m not gonna kill ya,” he tells the man flatly.

Ijichi snaps up to attention. “Thank you!” he exclaims. Toji almost feels bad for the guy. He slides into the backseat across from Gojo and closes his eyes. 

“We should play a road trip game,” Gojo says about five minutes later.

“No. I’m sleeping.”

“You’re clearly not sleeping!”

“Yes I am, I’m asleep right now. Get outta my dream before it turns into a nightmare.”

“Ha!” He hears Gojo laugh then shift beside him. “Fine, be like that, you stick-in-the-mud. I’ll wake ya up when we get there.”

Toji nestles further into the plush pleated-leather seat and tries to get comfortable again. He’s thankful when the silence stretches on for another fifteen minutes, and is just about ready to snooze when Gojo pipes up again.

“By the way, what’s your relationship with Yuki?”

Toji cracks open an eye to glare at the brat. Yeah, what is his relationship with Yuki? Unable to think of a good response, Toji can only shrug.

“Well, it never hurts to befriend the special grades,” Gojo snickers with a stupid wiggle of his eyebrows Toji is legitimately proud he doesn’t smack the kid for. 

“I don't have any intention of bein’ friends with you.”

“Pfft. That goes both ways, old man.”

Toji rolls his eyes. “And speakin’ of special grades, are there any others besides you two?”

In response, Gojo’s face twitches, and his playful demeanor slowly falls away until all that’s left is a distant, empty nothingness. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “One.”

“Oh? And what’s their deal?”

Gojo pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose to hide most of his eyes as he turns to gaze out the window, strangely forlorn. He sounds uncharacteristically sad when he finally replies, “He’s a total idiot.”

They spend the rest of the ride in silence, which is probably for the best. Ijichi ferries them out of the city and up remote windy roads into the deep mountains until they reach an impressive temple constructed in traditional architecture, all ancient weathered timber and artisan-crafted tile, with majestic tiers of pagodas that mingle with the clouds as they reach towards the heavens. 

Ijichi ushers them inside a dimly-lit room illuminated only by candlelight, and the heavy door creaks shut behind them in a sound that’s oddly final.

The meeting with the higher-ups goes reasonably well, by Toji’s admittedly low standards. They look at him like a dog would look at a flea and bitch at Gojo for the better part of an hour, but in the end, none of them stand up to him. Absently, Toji wonders if they’re even willing to; both he and Gojo alone could probably slaughter everyone in the room without breaking a sweat, let alone the two of them together. Toji kinda likes that, in a twisted sort of way; the idea that no one can really stand up to them. 

The geezers demand to keep his presence as under the radar as possible, which Toji supposes he can understand. Honestly, he prefers it that way; the less sorcerers he has to interact with, the better. He’s already stuck with the worst of them all. Running into a few along the way will be inevitable, but he’ll burn those bridges when he gets to them. Crosses them? Whatever. 

When they finally start talking numbers and slide Toji a piece of paper with a number written on it all spy-movie style, Toji can’t help but drop his jaw and curse out loud, much to the dismay of the conservative old farts around him. Gojo whoops out a laugh of victory as Toji signs on the dotted line so quick he almost rips the paper. 

Toji’s given a stupidly heavy copy of all the papers he signed, along with repeated statements of warning and confidentiality, blah blah blah. Toji will toss them out next week with the rest of the combustible trash. When he heads out, Gojo hangs back to iron out final details about their first mission together, which they insist won’t be until after the Christmas and the New Year, thank fuck. That gives him at least two weeks to kick back before everything inevitably goes to hell. 

Ijichi leads him down the temple steps and drives him back to the city, and as soon as Toji gets home, he buys Maki every piece of junk food she’s ever asked for. 

-----------------------

The end-of-the-year holidays have never been a time that Maki remembers fondly.

She’s always been tasked with holiday chores she’d never reap any of the joy from. She recalls being shoved in a room to wrap presents for all her cousins with strict directions for which gifts belonged to whom, and she’d gaze wistfully at the list while wishing with all her heart that her name would be on just one of them, even if only a card, but it never was. It was up to her to bake the Christmas cake and wash the dishes afterward, then she would take down the wreaths on the 26th and switch them out with shimekazari in preparation for New Years’ festivities. 

End-of-year deep cleaning always fell to her tiny shoulders. She read that New Years’ Day itself is meant to be free of stress and anger, while everything should be spotless and no work should be done -- not for her. It was up to her to tidy up after her extended family as they celebrated the fresh start; her job was to pour them sake and throw their trash away, which apparently, included herself. Maki was never invited when the rest of the family made their first trip to the temple. She was always told there wasn’t any point to her praying for something, since the gods had already turned their backs on her long ago.

When she asked her father what he’d wished for at the shrine one year, he’d glared down at her with a gaze like a splash of liquid nitrogen and replied that he wished she’d never been born. 

Which is why when Yuuji asks, “How do you, your mom, and your dad usually celebrate the holidays together?” after they’re heading back inside from playing in the snow a few days before Christmas, Maki can only stare back at him in dumbstruck silence.

She hadn’t even met Toji at this time last year. They didn’t cross paths until a little over two weeks before her seventh birthday. She’s known Yuki for maybe four months at best. She stops in her tracks before she can reach the cold metal staircase, now dusted with a light frosty layer of delicate snowflakes that stick between the strands of her evergreen hair like sugar crystals and dot the soft felt fabric of her winter coat with little wet spots.

Yuuji’s still watching with patience as he waits for an answer, eyes twinkling with honesty and innocence. He won’t judge her no matter what she says, she knows; his heart is too big for that, so big that Maki still doesn’t understand how there isn’t any room within it for anything close to hatred. Maybe it’s crammed too full of so much love and compassion it’s overflowing, radiating warmth straight through his chest and heating up the lives of everyone around him like a campfire. 

Maki hates how much hate blackens her heart. Sometimes she looks at Yuuji and thinks: I want to be strong like that. 

I want to be strong enough to be kind.

“Um,” Maki begins in a small voice. Yuuji shuffles closer. “Just the usual stuff, I guess.”

“Awesome!” Yuuji beams back. “My grandpa and I usually keep things pretty mellow because he’s tired a lot. Last year he was in the hospital through the holidays, so I spent them there with him! I don’t think he was too happy about that, though. But there was a really pretty Christmas tree in the hospital that me and some of the other kids got to decorate! It was so much fun! Have you ever had a Christmas tree?”

Embarrassed, Maki shakes her head slowly as the two of them walk up the staircase into her apartment. “I haven’t.”

Yuuji hops up and down in place like a bunny rabbit. “Whoa, really? We should totally get one then! Do you think your dad would let us have one in your apartment? I think mine is too small.”

Uh, Maki’s pretty sure Toji would plant a whole forest in their kitchen if they asked him to. “Probably.” She pushes open the door to find Toji just hanging up from a phone call. “Hi, Toji. Can you help us--”

“Yes.”

Blinking, “But I haven’t even finished asking the question yet!”

Toji sighs and gestures for her to continue. Maki has to stifle a giggle. “Can you help us get a Christmas tree?”

Toji smirks. “See, what’d I tell ya? ‘Course I can.” He slips his phone back into his pocket. “When do you kids wanna go? Think I saw a bunch for sale about a kilometer or two down the road.”

“Oh,” Yuuji says, pondering. “How will we bring it home? My grandpa doesn’t have a--”

“I’ll carry it,” Toji cuts him off.

If Yuuji were anyone else under the sun, a statement like that would set off blaring alarm bells that had him running for the hills. But Maki’s somewhat convinced that Yuuji doesn’t entirely register just how unnatural their superhuman strength is, because he considers that answer for about half a second before immediately moving on. “Thank you, Toji-ji! I can bring some decorations I have back at my house. What kind of decorations do you like, Maki?”

Caught off guard, Maki pauses. The Zen’in clan never bothered with a tree -- they must’ve thought it wasn’t ‘traditional’ enough, or something. Or maybe they just had a vendetta against anything happy and fun. But she remembers a resplendent display in a store window catching her eye while running errands last year -- the tree had been doused in endless threads of shimmering silver, tangled between the pine needles and layered in mantles atop the plateaus of branches, and Maki’s face spreads into a bright smile.

“Tinsel,” she replies. “Lots and lots of tinsel.”

Toji throws on his winter coat and the three of them head out after that. There’s a foreign and apprehensive look in Toji’s eyes as he glances at Yuuji, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t; absently, Maki wonders what the phone call was about. It’s stopped snowing for the moment -- instead the air is crisp and fresh and the wind has stilled, while soft footprints left by pedestrians make their temporary mark on the pure white blanket below their feet. It takes just under half an hour to reach the lot, mostly because they were meandering at a snail’s pace, unusual for the three of them individually, let alone together.

“Look at all the trees!” Yuuji exclaims. “They’re all so pretty! How will we pick?”

Maki surveys the rows of conifers, grinning as a sudden gust of wind whistles throughout the lot and carries with it the gentle scent of brushwood and pine. “We should pick one with lots of branches,” she suggests. “That way we’ll have lots of places to hang decorations.”

Then Yuuji’s eyes practically sparkle back at her. “That’s a great idea! You’re so smart, Maki!”

Well, someone has to guard the concerning paucity of intelligent thoughts between the three of them. “Let’s start looking!”

The two of them crunch through the compacted layers of snow left by the treads of previous customers, searching high and low for the perfect tree. In the end, Yuuji finds it; he and Maki instantly fall in love and then hoist it off the ground together. Toji doesn’t bat an eye as the two of them carry the hulking tree up to the merchant, whose eyes bug out of his skull as the two tiny children easily prance around with the pine on their shoulders. Toji collects it from their grasp as soon as he’s paid for it, and they travel back to Maki’s apartment in half the time it took for them to get there.

Once they’re done placing the tree in the corner of the living room, Yuuji takes a step back to admire it before turning back towards Maki. “It’s perfect! I’m gonna head back to my apartment to get my decorations. I bet my grandpa will help me find them.”

Toji clears his throat. “Uh--about that.” His brows pinch together and he scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. Maki’s heart sinks; she has a bad feeling about this. “I was on the phone earlier with your grandpa. He’s--well, he’s in the hospital again.”

It’s not the sadness that gets Maki. It’s the way all traces of Yuuji’s expression fall away to leave his ever-smiling features hollow and numb, until all that remains is the complete lack of emotion he wears whenever he’s fast asleep. “Oh.”

“Yuuji--” Toji says, because once Maki started calling him only by his first name he insisted that Toji do the same, “I know you probably wanna be with him like you were last year, but he’s pretty insistent that he doesn’t want ya to do that. He said he wants you to spend it with us.” Toji flinches when Yuuji’s breath snags in his throat. “You don’t have to, of course. But if you want to -- you’re always welcome here, y’know?”

Yuuji fidgets in place. “Is that really okay?” he asks in a small voice.

Warmly, Toji strolls over and crouches in front of him, rustling his unruly hair with a grin. “‘Course it’s okay. We’d love to have ya. Besides, I bet Maki’s gonna need some help with all the cookin’ for Christmas and New Years’ dinners. Lord knows I’m fu --uh, totally useless in that department.”

Yuuji giggles and throws his arms around Toji, whose eyes widen owlishly at the sudden display of affection. He pats Yuuji on the back a little cluelessly then hoists him onto his shoulders. “Alright kiddo, let’s go find those decorations.” He beckons Maki to follow, and the three of them make their way to Yuuji’s apartment.

Once they’ve rummaged through Yuuji’s belongings and successfully find the decorations, the two kids get to work on the tree with staunch determination. Toji kicks back on the couch and gives pointless advice for what he thinks will look best, and Maki cracks up at how obvious it is that he’s talking out his ass. Yuuji, bless his heart, takes everything at face value and nods enthusiastically, earnestly following his half-baked decorating tips that leave the tree a jumbled mess of unevenly-spaced ornaments and tangles of tinsel. When they’re finally almost done, all that’s left to put is the star on top of the tree. There’s just one problem.

...none of them are tall enough to reach it. 

She’s pretty sure Toji could jump up to put it on, but there’s a good chance he’d accidentally snap it off, and he kinda looks like he knows that. Just as the three of them are debating who would be optimal to hop on Toji’s shoulders to meticulously place it, the door opens. 

Honestly, it’s pretty funny that she doesn’t even bother to knock anymore.

“Hey, party people. I brought--” Yuki pauses, her smile widening with cheer as she catches sight of the somewhat disastrous tree in front of her. “Whoa, that looks great!”

“Oh, you’re just in time,” Toji says with a smirk. He walks over to greet her, taking one of her soft hands in his calloused own and placing the star gently into her palm. “We need a little help with somethin’.”

Yuki’s face blooms pink, petals of rose scattering across her cheeks. “W-well, okay. Sure.” She sets down the glossy scarlet bag she’s holding and cautiously approaches the tree, then stands on the very tips of her toes as she carefully sets the star in place. Toji watches her fondly as she pivots around to face them with pride, flashing them a smile with enough wattage to power a small factory. “There, now it’s perfect!” 

“Thank you!” Yuuji says as he stares at the glittering star with awe, its shining light reflecting in his chestnut irises like melted chocolate. He peers over his shoulder to face Yuki. “You’re gonna be in town for Christmas and New Years’, right? I bet your family would love it if you were here!”

Yuki’s breath hitches. “My--” She whips her head around to face Toji; he’s looking at her with a silent hint of emotion Maki can’t quite name. After another moment, he gives her a slight nod. Yuki’s eyes soften as she turns back to Yuuji. “Yeah, I’ll be here. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

Then Yuki jogs back to the entryway and retrieves the bag she’d been carrying, then slides it under the tree with a little smirk. “Don’t open this yet, okay? Wait for the big day.”

Three days later, it’s finally Christmas. Maki and Yuuji spend the whole day cooking the roast chicken and baking Christmas cake; Maki catches Yuuji eating batter out of the bowl with a fork, so she momentarily takes it away then fetches each of them a spoon. She’d heard something once cautioning against eating raw eggs, but whatever. That sounds like a problem for Tomorrow Maki. Yuki rolls in a couple hours before dinnertime and keeps Toji company as he watches them cook with a watering mouth and hungry eyes.

After they’ve finished their feast, the four of them crowd around the tree. The presents beneath it have multiplied -- Maki’s chest stirs with a surge of warmth when not one, not two, but three of them have her name written on them in various handwriting, scrawled in beautiful brushed calligraphy (Yuki), a solid attempt at proper kanji (Toji), and a handmade tag with a few strokes missing (Yuuji). She crouches down to stare at them with delight for a moment before spinning back towards the other three.

“Let’s open them!” she declares.

Toji folds his arms. “Ah? Ya don’t wanna wait until tomorrow mornin’?”

Maybe she’s being too eager, but she’s waited her whole life for this. Maki shakes her head.

Toji chuckles. “Well, alright. Tonight it is.”

Yuuji prods her excitedly on the shoulder. “Open mine first!”

In acceptance, Maki nods. “Okay.” She pads over to grab the gift -- the wrapping is lopsided, a little messy, tape cross-hatching over unintentional creases and uneven seams of the snowman-printed paper. There’s a big smiley face drawn on the front of the card next to her name that stretches across the whole length of the present, but as Maki begins to unwrap it, Yuuji’s own smile is somehow wider.

It’s a painting. Yuuji’s art skills have actually gotten better by now -- almost impressive, especially for a six year old. Splashes of acrylic paint dye the canvas in a brightly-pigmented scene depicting the two of them chasing each other across the schoolyard, reminiscent of the very first time they ever played tag together and instantly latched onto one another like velcro. Maki tries to picture him hunched over the canvas, brows knit with effort and tongue sticking out between his gapped teeth like he always does whenever he’s really concentrating. He squirms beside her in anticipation, feet kicking back and forth against the cushions of the couch. 

“Do you like it?” he asks eagerly. “I chose this memory because it’s one of my favorites ever! It’s really special to me, because it was when I met my best friend!”

Maki has to swallow hard to gulp down the lump in her throat. “I--I love it,” she whispers. “Thank you, Yuuji. It’s perfect.” She flits back to the couch to give him a quick hug, then hands him his present from under the tree. “Your turn!”

Yuuji’s grin brightens as he hurriedly unwraps his gift, tossing the shredded paper haphazardly beside him in a flurry like the snow outside. Maki chuckles, because that’s just like him. “Wow!” he cheers when the present is freed from the paper. “Is this a cookbook of all our favorite recipes? Did you make this just for me?”

It took forever; hey, that’s what happens when you meticulously write everything by hand. “Yeah, I did. There’s some new ones in there, too, but I thought it would be cool if we could try them together.” She gulps again. “Does that sound fun?”

Instantly, Yuuji springs to his feet and pulls her into a crushing hug. “Of course it sounds fun! This is the most awesome present ever, Maki!”

Yuuji pulls away as Yuki withdraws her present from under the tree. “Alright kid, my turn.” She reaches a hand into the bag she brought and pulls out three matching boxes and hands one of them each to Toji, Yuuji, and Maki. “Go ahead, open ‘em.”

The three of them open up the boxes in unison. When Maki draws back the crinkled tissue paper, she finds a gorgeous green scarf -- it matches her hair perfectly, down to the most subtle forest hues and tourmaline undertones. When she looks up, Yuuji and Toji have received the same, with Yuuji’s scarf a rosy coral pink and Toji’s an inky black, all plush cotton yarn and snuggly softness, cozy like watching a snowstorm while huddled inside by a warm fireplace.

“I made those myself, y’know. Little known talent,” she chuckles. “Hey, gotta figure out something to do while I’m on those painfully long flights.”

Maki wraps it around her neck and nestles into its threads to hide her smile. Toji tosses his around his shoulders with a devious grin. “Oh, what a coincidence,” he says mischievously. He plucks up a present with Yuki’s name on it and swiftly unwraps it. It’s a similar scarf, a muted pale gold like her picturesque blond; with it, the four of them together make a matching set. “Looks like we got each other the same thing.”

Yuki’s jaw drops. “Toji?” she squeaks, her face flushing a screaming shade of crimson. “How did you--”

Smoothly, Toji grins again and spirals it around her neck, tugging gently on one of the ends to pull her closer until she’s just a few centimeters away from his chest. “Darlin’, you ain’t nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

Yuki seems--pretty much speechless. After a few seconds of collecting herself she gives Toji a peck on the cheek that leaves them both a little flustered, then Toji turns back towards the kids. 

“Alright, kiddo. Time to open your present,” he tells Maki. “Guess it’s partially for Yuuji, too.”

Maki picks up his present and gingerly peels back the silver paper. Inside of it is a simple rope ladder. Maki tilts her head. “What’s this?”

Then Toji pushes off the back of the couch he’s leaning against and gestures for her to follow him. “C’mon, I’ll show ya. This way.”

Maki and Yuuji trail after him out of the apartment and through the snow outside until they reach a nearby park. A path through the ice has been cleared; it winds past the plastic benches and frozen playground, across the frosted-over blades of grass that are more gold now than green, between the rows of saplings sprouting out between the patches of ice blanketing the ground. Some of the trees are taller, Maki notes. And in the tallest one---

---is a treehouse.

It’s constructed carefully with smooth panes of wood, stained a deep rich mahogany that sharply contrasts against the white landscape as it peeks through the arbor curtain. Open windows hang with ropes that ascend further up into the tree, perfect for climbing higher and swinging around between the labyrinth of branches. From its ceiling hangs a lantern that glows like a lighthouse, beckoning her closer like a ship guided to shore.

“Y’know, it was surprisingly tough to convince the neighborhood association to let me build this,” Toji murmurs. 

Maki turns around, her breath stuck in her throat. “You built this?” 

Toji ruffles her hair. “Yeah, kiddo. I did.”

Quickly, Maki blinks back the stinging in her eyes. In lieu of responding, she reaches into her pocket to fish out his gift. “I want to give you your present now.” She reaches up and hands him the little box. He takes it carefully from her grasp and unties the ribbon, then pulls out the little doll tucked inside. “It’s something I made with Yuuji,” she explains. “We like to play superheroes with grass dolls sometimes and um--this is the first one I made.” She drops her eyes to the snow. “It’s supposed to be you.”

She hears Toji audibly gulp. “You made a superhero doll of... me?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, and because if there’s any time she’s allowed to be sappy it’s now, she adds: “It’s because you’re my hero.”

Toji covers his face with one of his hands and clears his throat. “Thanks,” he chokes out. “This is--this is really sweet.” He peeks at her through his fingers with a watery gaze. “Love ya, kid.”

He really does, doesn’t he? It’s not just in the way he says it; it’s how she knows it from everything that he does for her. It was in the way he pulled her close when hugged her for the very first time, and when he anxiously handed her the new glasses after her old ones were crushed. It was in the way he held her after exorcising the special-grade curse, in the blood drenching his body as he gazed at her with nothing that Maki had ever seen before but instantly recognized as fatherly love. It was in the way they moved into the first apartment she wanted, in the beautiful sword he gave to protect her. It was in the way his face shone as if lit from within when she made her first friend, in how he carried home the Christmas tree on his shoulders just to make her happy.

They’re related, at least distantly, through the wicked blood of the Zen’in that cast them both aside, that put them both in the same category of worth as the curses they kill for a living. Toji loves like he has something to prove, loves like he’s determined to convince her she deserves to be loved. 

Ogi confirmed it, her mother confirmed it, her cousin confirmed it. Maki is not Toji’s daughter.

But honestly? It doesn’t feel like she’s not his daughter.

Maki looks up at him, and for the first time she thinks -- does it really make a difference if he’s not her birth father? 

He truly did save her. The look in his eyes now is filled with trepidation, a thinly-veiled nervousness like he’d worn when he brought her that old TV and a slice of cake for her birthday; she wonders if at that point Toji loved her already, even if he hadn’t known it yet.  

Maki wonders when along the line she started to feel the same. She could try to place it, but it’s not important now. What is important is this. Maki takes a deep breath.

“I love you too, Toji.”

Then Toji smiles at her, slow at first like a sunrise, then all-encompassing, brilliant and warm. He scoops her up into his arms and twirls her around with an unfettered laugh of joy, and she buries her face into his neck when her tears start flowing.

The New Years’ festivities begin before she knows it. Toji and Yuki are the ones who deep clean the apartment, while Maki and Yuuji play like the carefree children Maki always wished she could be. On January 1st they wake up at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise, then the four of them make a trip to the local shrine to ring the bell and cast their wishes; Maki’s always heard that you’re supposed to keep your wish a secret, but as soon as Yuuji pads back over to her he announces, “I wished we could be best friends forever!” 

Maki beams at him, and she’s telling him the truth when she replies, “Me, too!”

The next evening they go to the town’s New Years’ festival, all wearing their matching scarves. The two kids are decked out in yukatas Toji bought for them, spun from thick layers of fabric with intricately hand-stitched designs of gossamer thread; they seem ridiculously expensive, from their similarity to the ornate traditional robes worn by the heirs of the Zen’in clan. Maki thanks Toji over and over for that, because even when she knew he had no money he always did his best to spoil her. 

Toji’s yukata is a muted black; Yuki’s wearing a stunning midnight blue kimono with majestic oriental cranes embroidered from head to toe and a vivid silk obi woven with shimmering fibers of crimson, her hair tied into a half-updo with a dazzling butterfly ornament tucked between her winding curls. She looks like an empress, Maki thinks absently. 

“You look--uh, real pretty,” Toji says smoothly. Maki snorts. Yuki flicks him playfully on the chest and murmurs,

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Toji and Yuki are looking at each other funny, but whatever. Maki wants to explore. They make their way through the winding festival stalls as Maki and Yuuji munch on cheap takoyaki, trying to decide which game to play first. Maki’s competitive switch activates when the two of them eventually decide on a ring toss game. They get three tries to win their desired prize; they each only need one. The booth owner looks a little concerned as he hands them both the toys they easily won. Maki and Yuuji exchange glances -- their competition isn’t even close to being settled.

“Let’s try goldfish scooping next!” Yuuji declares.

Yeah, that goes pretty much the same. Yuuji scoops up about half the squiggling population in one go and Maki catches the other. The stall attendant insists they can’t keep them all, much to the childrens’ chagrin. Bummer, Maki was already trying to figure out how to house them all in her bathtub. 

They decide on an arrow-shooting game to settle the score, but that doesn’t help them establish a winner, either. Maki makes a bullseye on the first shot and Yuuji splits her arrow in two with his own. The top prize is a giant teddy bear worth at least twenty thousand yen, and the attendant’s jaw drops to the ground when the two of them effortlessly win it. Jeez, is he really that surprised? Maki might almost think the game was rigged or something. The rest of the game attendants seemed equally concerned they’ll meet a similar fate, and she swears she overhears one man say, “Will somebody please stop these menace children?!”

When it’s almost time for fireworks, Yuki hands the two of them some change to buy some candy apples. The kids shuffle over to the booth to buy them, but the woman behind the counter gives her a warm smile and gives Maki the second one without cost. “Here,” she says. “A free one for you and your brother!”

Maki gasps, but Yuuji doesn’t even blink. Instead, he plucks it from the woman’s grasp with a quick, “Thank you!” then skips off to rejoin the adults, and Maki can’t even try to suppress the smile on her face when she returns to his side.

Finally, they make their way towards the sprawling field on the side of a hill to watch the fireworks show. Maki and Yuuji lean up against the comically large teddy bear as they watch the empty sky with bated breath. Behind them, Toji needlessly adjusts Yuki’s scarf before subtly wrapping an arm around her shoulders -- which is nice of him, but she didn’t seem all that cold in the first place? Oh well. Yuki rests her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh, and it makes Maki feel weirdly flustered so she turns back towards the nighttime.

And all at once the sky alights with color, trails of fire carving out channels of incandescence through the blackness in a blaze of glory. Maki watches in awe as the flares scorch the heavens, alongside her dad that isn’t her dad, her mom that isn’t her mom, her brother that isn’t her brother. As she watches the starbursts explode in the sky, Maki thinks distantly that the blood ties her clan always told her were paramount are actually absolute nonsense; those people aren’t her family, she decides. She’s with her family right now. When Yuuji excitedly jabs her shoulder and points towards a smiley-face shaped firework light up the clouds, Maki can’t help but burst into laughter.

Maybe blood doesn’t even matter at all.

Chapter Text

The winter holiday season concludes before Toji knows it, and new beginnings bleed into early January. Maki and Yuuji’s school resumes soon after and Toji finds himself alone during the day again; it’s strange how quickly he’d become used to living in a noisy home. He’ll admit without hesitation that he kinda misses the sound of the kids chasing each other around the house with some new bug Yuuji found under a rock or something, himself and Yuki cracking up from the couch and betting over which one of the kids would trip first. 

Toji won’t feel bad for betting against Maki sometimes. Some of those bugs were creepy as hell. In any case, this month means two things:

First: Maki’s eighth birthday is coming up.

Toji briefly considered a surprise party, but he’s got a feeling she might actually hate that. Too much of a surprise, and he wouldn’t put it past her to accidentally sock him in the face; which would be pretty funny, but probably not funny enough for the whole ordeal to be worth it. Besides, her seventh birthday celebration was kinda pathetic -- they’d barely even known each other back then. He’s gonna do better this year, he’s determined to. 

She’s not really materialistic, but that’s not gonna stop Toji from buying her a truly ridiculous number of presents. Hey, he’s gotta make up for all the birthdays he missed, and all the birthdays she spent neglected by the Zen’in clan. Fucking asshole sorcerers. And speaking of asshole sorcerers--

Last, but definitely least: his first mission with Gojo has arrived.

Unfortunately, the latter comes before the former. Admittedly, Toji is wondering if the boatload of cash is even gonna be worth putting up with his bullshit. He’ll do it, of course, but far more for Maki than for himself. This one mission alone pays about a fifth of what Maki’s katana cost; apparently, it’s from the potential reward money if the mission is a success, on top of the exorbitant base pay Toji already gets for keeping the brat in check.

Gojo gets his number, somehow. Yuki swears she didn’t give it to him, and Toji believes her. This is probably just something he’s gonna have to get used to -- that the kid has his ways. And actually, it might be overall better for Toji’s mental health if he doesn’t know what those ways are.

The kid sends the mission details in a series of texts peppered with an irritatingly unnecessary number of emoticons. Apparently, a bus full of foreign tourists mysteriously disappeared into a derelict tunnel on the side of a mountain in Hokkaido. Lately, there have been a swirl of urban legends regarding the vengeful spirit of a man who supposedly perished while hiking through it alone after being sent there on a dare. 

The two of them have been tasked with investigating the area under the shrouding eclipse of nighttime, in order to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. Many of the tourists’ families have pitched in to create a reward fund for the safe return of their loved ones. That makes Toji’s gut twist with some unfamiliar mix of discomfort and determination.

Toji gives Yuki a call the day before he heads out. She picks up after a few rings. 

“Hey there, handsome. Always nice to see your name pop up on my screen,” she greets. Toji bites his lip a little. “What can I do for ya?”

“Yeah, here’s the thing. I gotta go on an overnight job with Gojo,” he sighs, and the exasperation must’ve made its way into his voice even over the phone because Yuki replies,

“Oh boy, good luck with that. Try not to kill him? Maybe just maim him a little.”

Toji snorts. “I’ll try. Anyways, I got a favor to ask of ya. Would you mind watchin’ Maki for me while I’m away?”

A pause. “Me?”

“Yeah, of course you.”

There are a few moments of silence before Yuki laughs it off. “Well, I guess I’m the only person you really know.”

“Please. Even if I knew the whole population of Japan, I’d still choose you.”

Yeah, that’s followed by a long silence on the other end of the line. Shit, did he say that out loud? Toji quickly adds: “She’s pretty independent, so you probably won’t have to do much. Besides, she really likes ya.”

Yuki chuckles. “You sure you’re not the same?”

Toji puts his phone down on the counter for a second. Oh god, he’s got it bad. He draws in a deep breath before picking up the phone again. “In your dreams, doll.”

Shortly after, Yuki agrees and they chat a little longer before she has to hang up. The next day comes far too quickly, and Toji finds himself reluctant to head out the door once it’s time to go. 

“It’s just gonna be a short business trip, kiddo,” he tells Maki as he plants a kiss to her forehead, tucking her sideswept bangs behind her ear. “Yuki’s gonna be over soon to hang out with ya here, okay? I’ll miss ya lots.”

“I’ll miss you too,” she says shyly. Damn, she’s so adorable.

“Hey, I’ll be back before ya know it,” he reassures her. “I’ll take you and Yuuji sledding or somethin’ when I come home, okay?”

He pulls her into a quick hug and feels her nod against his chest. “Okay.”

Toji ruffles her hair one more time for good measure. “Bye, sweetheart. See ya in a day or so.” And then he heads out.

Still, there’s something oddly unsettling about leaving his kid behind. He can’t explain it; it’s an itch that crawls like an army of spiders across his body and burrows just beneath his skin, filling him with the inexplicable desire to dig his nails into its outer layers and shred through its surface in grisly ribbons. There’s a dark voice echoing in the very back of his thoughts, leaking through the sealed strongholds of his mind that says: you’ve done this before. Toji shuts it up almost immediately and moves on.

Just in case, Toji packs the little grass doll she gave him for Christmas as a keepsake, a tiny treasure to remind him that his beloved daughter is waiting for him back home. It can be his lucky charm, or something. If this mission with Gojo is anything like every other time they’ve interacted, he’s gonna need it.

For the trip, Toji opts for a light grey sweater and a pair of old jeans for maximum comfort, and it’s around 10PM when he meets up with Gojo at the airport. Toji figured he wouldn’t be tough to spot given his height and unique hair color, but the idiot sticks out like a sore thumb for an entirely different reason this time.

Gojo is sporting an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt over long sleeves, paired with khaki cargo shorts and pink flip flops. The stupid sunglasses indoors really complete the look. It’s...truly a trainwreck. Toji is honestly embarrassed to be seen with him, which says a lot coming from someone with zero shame.

So Toji pulls the most disgusted face he can manage when he walks up to Gojo. “Oi, why the hell are you gay and can’t dress? The fuck were you doin’ in the closet the whole time?”

Gojo looks genuinely offended by that. “It’s called fashion, look it up!”

“If this is what comes up, I’d really rather not,” Toji sneers. “Isn't it gonna be in the negative digits in Hokkaido? What’s with the Hawaiian shirt?”

“Duh, that’s what the long sleeves are for,” he explains in a flat tone, as if that’s any justification for assaulting the eyes of innocent travelers. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Did you sleep in that?”

Frowning, “Yeah, actually.”

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Ugh. Walk behind me, I wanna pretend like we don’t know each other for as long as possible.”

Toji bristles like a kicked cat. “No fuckin’ way! You walk behind me if you’re gonna be so fussy about it!”

“I’m not fussy!” Gojo fusses. “Whatever, let’s just get going before we miss our flight. I totally bet you’re gonna be ‘randomly selected’ by security for a more thorough check.”

Oh, come on. “I don’t look that suspicious.”

“So you admit you look a little suspicious.”

Toji tightens his grip on his travel bag. “Least I’m not wearin’ any of my shirts with bloodstains on ‘em. One of which has yours now, by the way. Buy me a new one, rich boy.”

As expected, Gojo ignores that last comment. Asshole, he’s not getting away with it that easy. “Yeah, and how much of your wardrobe has bloodstains on it by now?”

...Toji doesn’t really wanna answer that. Half, maybe? “Pfft, practically nothing. Meanwhile, you look like you’ve slaughtered style and worn its skin as a trophy.”

“Ha! So your eyes have opened to my winning fashion sense!”

“Idiot, that’s not what I--” Fuck, this is pointless. “Y’know what? Let’s play the quiet game. C’mon, impress me with your skills at shutting up.”

“I don’t have anything to prove to you, old man,” Gojo snaps. “Fine. Whatever. First one to talk is a loser.”

Honestly? They’re both already losers, and stubborn ones at that. Still, it’s nice to make their way to the gate in silence. Gojo is the one who gets ‘randomly selected’ by security, and Toji can’t help but cackle his ass off at that. Hey, laughing doesn’t count as talking. Gojo just makes strained noises at the security agent, who Toji shares a brief moment of camaraderie with at the kid’s flailing.

They board the plane not long after. It’s just the two of them in their row, thank fuck, but there’s a little old lady across the aisle who’s bound to be an inevitable spectator of their eventual bickering. Toji makes a mental note to have the flight attendant buy her an extra in-flight refreshment or something. On Gojo’s credit card, of course.

The kid nudges him with his elbow about ten minutes after take-off. “Hey, Toji, check it out. That cloud over there is shaped like a bird.”

Toji quirks an eyebrow. He almost throws it in the brat’s face that he’s just lost their stupid game before realizing that he actually doesn’t give a shit. Yeah, he kinda sees it; the wings are a little lopsided, though. But that’s not what makes him squirm in his seat. 

He’s pretty sure that’s the first time Gojo has ever addressed him by name, and it sounds a little weird coming from him. “Did you just call me ‘Toji’ ?” he says redundantly.

Gojo peeks over his shoulder from where his face is pressed against the window, now foggy from his warm breath. “Huh? Oh, yeah. You can call me by my given name, if you want. Since I’ll call you by yours.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that. Since when were we on a first name basis?”

Suspicious, Gojo narrows his eyes. “And what’s your last name?”

...is it really Zen’in? For some reason, that just doesn’t feel right. Ugh, this is embarrassing. He finds himself wanting to say Tsukumo, but god, he just can’t. “Fine. Toji it is. I’m not doin’ that for you, though.”

Gojo just goes back to staring out the window, as if he cares so little he doesn’t even need to respond. Hey, maybe this has a shot at being a half-peaceful flight. He’s proven wrong a few minutes later when Gojo prods him on the shoulder. “Look, that cloud looks like a person with their left side missing.” His lips twist into a self-satisfied smirk. “Kinda like you after our second fight.”

Toji refuses to take the bait on that one. “Why were we even fighting on that day?”

“Cuz you tried to kill me.”

Toji rolls his eyes. “And why was I tryin’ to kill you?”

“Because you’re an asshole.” He pokes Toji again. “And nothing’s changed.”

Dumbass. Toji kicks his feet up against the seat in front of him, the comfort of its passenger be damned. “Go ahead, keep testin’ me. Wanna find out if I’ll really toss ya out the emergency exit of this plane?” 

“But I can fly,” Gojo replies with a big dumb grin.

“Oh, right. Must be all that hot air inside your head.”

“Yeah. And you sink like a rock because of how dense you are.”

The little old lady across the aisle is frowning at them. Not like Toji really cares, but it’s gonna be a long night already. After a few more minutes of silence, Toji changes the subject. “So, uh. Tell me about your kids.”

He can practically feel Gojo’s guard go up, entirely different from the Limitless already surrounding him. He narrows his frigid blue eyes into razor-sharp icicles. “Why?”

Toji huffs in aggravation. Why does this seem like such a touchy subject for him? “Christ, just makin’ conversation. Jeez, most parents like to brag about their kids. Guess it was kinda stupid of me to assume you’re like most parents, though.”

For another moment, Gojo surveys him cautiously, searching with those Six-Eyes for something Toji’s not sure that he has. Toji can’t tell if he finds it; but some of the tension eventually slips from his shoulders, and he slumps back against his seat. “No, I like bragging about them too,” he begins. “My daughter’s such a sweetheart. Honestly, I’m half-convinced she’s literally an angel. I don’t think she has a mean bone in her whole body.”

The kid lets out a little laugh. “My son couldn’t be more different, though. I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation where he didn’t make some retort at me at least once. And he keeps getting into scuffles at school! He always wins them though, which is totally hilarious. I’ve been to like thirty parent-teacher conferences already.” He chuckles fondly. “He’s such a menace. I’m so proud of him.”

Toji snorts. “Heh. He sounds like me.”

“No!” Gojo barks, far too quickly. His whole body jerks against the seatbelt so hard it almost tears in two. “I mean, uh, no. He’s not anything like you. In fact, he’d hate you, I bet.”

Seriously? Toji grimaces. “Wow, thanks. I bet Maki would hate you too.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

God, this is so incredibly awkward. Toji almost preferred being mortal enemies to this.

There are three seats in the row; Gojo’s in the window seat, and Toji’s next to the aisle. The middle seat between them feels like it stretches for miles, an impossibly deep and impassable chasm which none could cross.

Then Gojo crosses it four seconds later. Surprisingly, the brat actually makes another attempt at conversation after that. “So what’s Maki like?” asks Gojo, and it sounds strangely earnest.

Well, Toji supposes he can answer this one, because dammit, it’s his turn to brag about his kid. “She’s a real spitfire. Got a lotta fight in her, and even more heart. I’ve never met anyone with more determination, spirit, or resilience than her. She didn’t really know how to be a kid when I first found her cuz of how she was treated in that fuckin’ Zen’in clan, but she’s got a pal now that’s helpin’ her come outta her shell.” Toji leans back against his seat. “Turns out she loves little animals, especially the family of ducklings that lived by the river near us. They took off for the winter though, and I think she was pretty bummed about that.”

Gojo is oddly quiet after that. He goes back to gazing out the window, eyes detached and unseeing behind those inky-blank lenses. “She sounds pretty cute.”

“Yeah, she’s the cutest goddamn kid to ever walk the planet,” he replies, and he knows he’s really rambling on about her now, but whatever. “It’s her birthday soon, actually. I’ve been plannin’ her party for the past couple of days.”

The kid perks up. “Can I come?”

“No.”

“Oi! You didn’t even think about it!”

“Why would I need to?!” Toji returns. “Seriously though, she’s perfect. God, I’d do anything for her.”

“Sounds like you really love her, huh?” Gojo says in a small voice. His eyes are looking anywhere but Toji’s.

“Yeah, ‘course I do.” He flicks the brat on his temple. Gojo turns to face him with his lips downturned. “I mean, you get it, right? Bet you love your kids too.”

Gojo’s eyes widen owlishly, as if no one’s ever asked him that before. He opens his mouth to say something that doesn’t live past his tongue, pivots his head back towards the window, then nods so imperceptibly Toji’s sure no one other than him would’ve caught it.

So Toji shakes it off. “Anyways. You raisin’ your kids with another daddy?"

Gojo’s eyes drop to the stained carpet on the floor of the plane. “He’s not...around anymore.” 

Ouch. “Sorry about that, I guess,” Toji replies with a frown.

The kid scowls. “You should be,” he bites back.

Toji doesn’t really have any context for that random bout of aggression, but there’s something about the way Gojo is looking at him that’s really pissing him off. “Oh sure, blame it on me. Bet that must be easier than blaming it on yourself.”

Well fuck, that must’ve hit a nerve. Gojo’s expression twists into something almost identical to the one he wore when Toji hacked his arm off. “Y’know, you’re a real asshole!”

Toji flaps a hand. What’s that phrase again? The pot calling the kettle black, or something like that. “How about we just don’t talk for the rest of the flight?”

“Took the words right outta my mouth,” Gojo mumbles, and they’re both actually quiet after that.

Thankfully, Gojo changes into his regular uniform when they land. Toji’s half convinced he wore the Hawaiian getup just to spite him. They swiftly make their way outside the airport to find a car already waiting for them, which Toji really should’ve expected. The driver pointedly refuses to look at him. Toji’s less insulted by that than he probably should be.

The car winds through the snowy streets of Hokkaido, powdery white winds swirling in eddies outside the vehicle’s dark-tinted windows. The trees have shed their leaves this time of year and instead the branches are draped with curtains of snow, thin sheets of ice clinging to the dead plant matter. Warm yellow lights from cozy indoor spaces wink in and out like fireflies, tapering off slowly as they head into the mountains. 

The roads are cold and bare, and the car eventually stops in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Gojo hops out of the vehicle after nudging Toji with his elbow. Begrudgingly, Toji follows. He’s wishing he dressed warmer now. Not like the cold really has any effect on his reinforced body, but he really could’ve gone without the ice crusting over against the warmth of his hands.

“So what are we even lookin’ for?” Toji asks as the two of them meander into a thicket of trees, distancing themselves from the barely-paved road. 

“The only eyewitness said the curse is somewhat humanoid, if that humanoid was the size of a dump truck. No eyes, big mouth on its chest with a couple tongues. Eight legs like a spider and crawls like one too. Sounds lovely, amirite?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure I’ll swoon,” Toji drawls. “Do ya think those tourists are even alive anymore?”

Gojo shrugs. “Who knows? It’s at least worth a shot.”

In agreement, Toji nods. “Yeah, that reward money’s really somethin’.”

“Well--not just that,” Gojo says, quieter now. “Would be nice if we could save them.”

Toji tilts his head. “Save them? I wouldn’t have thought you’d care about that.”

Gojo holds out his palm, a few tiny snowflakes sticking to his slender fingertips. “I used to not care about it,” he murmurs. “Did you know? You can only save people who want to be saved.”

Huh. Toji blinks away the ice trying to cling to his eyelashes. “I see.”

The two shuffle through the snow in silence for a bit, climbing carefully over the jagged slate jutting out of the mountainside and over snapped twigs and pulverized rock. It’s slippery, so Toji has to watch his step. Beside him, the kid seems like he’s walking on air; Toji resists the urge to knock him over just for the hell of it.

“Oh, I meant to ask you this earlier,” Gojo eventually begins. “If you can’t remember anything about your life before our fight, how did you come to the conclusion that Maki is your daughter?”

“I don’t remember nothing, just... almost nothing,” Toji starts. “When I first ran into her, I remembered I had a kid with a real pretty name starting in M and ending in i , so I figured, who else could it be, right? She had almost no cursed energy and movements just like mine -- it was like lookin’ in a mirror, and I just knew.” Toji swats away a pinecone that drops from overhead. “How’d you end up with your kids?”

Gojo looks...a little nauseous, for some inexplicable reason. Man, what a weirdo. “Uh...it just sorta happened.”

When it becomes clear he’s not gonna say anything else, Toji huffs in exasperation. “Damn, what a story. Anyone ever told ya you’ve got a real way with words?”

But Gojo shakes it off and chuckles. “At least every other word outta my mouth isn’t a curse word.”

“Hey, I won’t apologize for that. Say what ya want about my potty mouth, but I bet ya can’t name a single other word with more versatility or emotion than ‘fuck.’ ”

Gojo ponders for a moment before responding. “Well, okay. I’ll give ya that one.”

“Oi, don’t agree with me. It’s creepin’ me out.”

“Then what the fuck do you want from me?!” Gojo shoots back with a laugh, putting extra emphasis on the curse word. Toji has to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from laughing too.

“I wouldn’t have thought those prissy clan leaders would let ya speak like that,” Toji notes. His stomach churns a bit at the reminder that Maki was whipped when she did the same.

Gojo seems to notice his sudden queasiness and overcompensates with energy in response. “Well, they’re more lenient if you’re a future clan leader yourself,” he explains.

“Huh? Is that what you’re gonna do when you grow up?”

“Old man, I already am grown up,” the kid replies. “I dunno, maybe. I don’t really wanna. Lately I’ve been thinking about becoming--” he cuts himself off. “Never mind. But y’know, my childhood best friend was a future clan leader too. He was pretty much the only person my family let me hang out with, so we did everything together.” Gojo’s expression sours. “He grew up into a real asshole, though.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah, it really does suck,” he says, as if he’s just now remembering something he really didn’t want to, but then he shakes it off. “He knew you, actually. Bet he’d totally flip if he found out you’re still alive. Even more now that we’re partners.”

“We’re not partners.”

“Oh? Then what are we?”

“I’m your babysitter.”

“Pfft, more like the other way around,” Gojo says, and seriously? It really isn’t. “Anyways, he really looked up to you, for some god-forsaken reason. He talked about you a lot.”

“Creepy,” Toji replies, only half-listening.

“Yeah, a bit. That was just his vibe, though.”

“Sounds like a great guy,” Toji snorts.

“Aww, he wasn’t that bad back when we were kids,” Gojo continues. He’s rambling now, because he seems like the type to do anything just to fill the silence. He probably doesn’t think Toji is really listening; oh well, he’s sorta right. “But something changed one day, and we stopped hanging out after that. Guess he decided he didn’t wanna be my friend anymore.”

Toji quirks an eyebrow; now he’s listening. Hey, who can blame him? This just got mildly interesting. “What happened there?”

Gojo pauses, for just long enough for it to not be convincing. “I don’t know.”

God, Toji can’t believe he’s about to say this. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

True to expectation, Gojo barks out a laugh at that. “What are you, my therapist?”

“Christ, I literally just said I’m your babysitter. Didn’t your parents ever teach ya listening skills?”

Yeah, Gojo completely glazes over that remark. Daddy issues much? “Whatever! I’m used to it.”

“What? People leaving?” Toji says sarcastically.

The brat flashes him a million-watt grin bright as a spotlight and just about as fake as one, too. “Yup!”

What the hell? “That’s a bummer.”

Gojo flaps a hand dismissively. “It’s no big deal. Just a fun side effect of being the strongest.”

And something about that statement just isn’t sitting right with him. Toji kicks a rock with the metal edge of his steel-toed boot, his eyes following the tumbling of the pebble as it ricochets off a nearby tree. “So what?”

The brat scowls just in response. “Whaddya mean, ‘so what’ ?”

“Oh, come on, kid. The strongest? Big whoop. You say that like it means you have to be alone.”

The change is instant. Gojo recoils away almost instinctively, like he’s just realized he’s way too close to a pile of hot coals. “What the hell are you on about?” he says slowly.

Frown deepening, “I mean, your strength obviously ain’t all of you, right? Do people really treat ya like that? ”

“Um,” Gojo says in his defense, and doesn’t continue after that.

“Man, seriously?” Sorcerers really are assholes, and not in the clever way that Toji is. The idea of that really sets Toji off, in a way he can’t quite put into words. “Screw the godlike power for a second. Beneath that, you’re really just a kid.”

And that's the crux of it, isn’t it? Thinking of either himself or the brat as something more than human is what got them both into trouble in the first place. It had been painfully apparent in their most recent fight; how each of them had been entirely blinded by the other, their earthly connection to the mortal world ripped away by their desperation to tear themselves away from it, how nothing had existed outside of the battle for them. To place themselves on a different plane of existence from others is dangerous thinking -- that same reckless sense of superiority and hubris is what almost led them to killing each other, thrice.

And besides. Toji would be willing to bet both of their reattached left arms that just like Maki, Gojo also didn’t have anything close to a normal childhood, even if he was lionized as a god instead of condemned like trash just begging to be incinerated. If people treat Gojo like his power is the only thing that gives him worth as a being, then they treated Maki like garbage because they thought she had none.

Gojo’s still staring at him in dumbfounded shock, like an old cartoon villain that’s just been whacked over the head with a baseball bat. ‘‘What?” he says in a small voice.

“I mean, you’re just some guy right? I don’t think bein’ born with six eyes and limitless energy means you’ve got any less feelings than anybody else. Seriously, I wish you could see your face right now. Ya look totally freaked out,” Toji chuckles. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen any pictures of a god that looks like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

The kid has now fallen quiet as a mouse, and Toji honestly can’t tell if he’s even breathing anymore. This time it’s his turn to fill the silence, if for no other reason than to hear himself talk. “Sure, you’ve got a special talent or whatever, but I don’t really see how that’s any different than someone who can sing really well, or make beautiful paintings, or tell interesting stories. So you can fly, yeah? Congratulations. Bet my kid’s six year old best friend could beat you in a baking contest in his sleep.” 

Absently, his mind drifts back to that one morning when he’d gotten the strange feeling that there was only one other man in the category of people who could exorcise a special grade curse but not make a decent breakfast, and suddenly he knows exactly who’s in that group with him. “Answer me somethin’. Can you even fry an egg?”

“No,” Gojo eventually breathes, in a voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”

Toji smirks. Triumphant, once again. “See, what’d I tell ya? You’re just a regular guy, and no regular guy should be forced to stand up on a pedestal all by himself. Even for someone as annoying as you, I think that’s just a little bit too sad.” He flicks Gojo on the forehead right between the eyes, warm in a way he’s afraid to label as caring. “You’re only human, kid. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

Hey, he’s actually gotten pretty good at this whole dad-advice thing. Fuck, is that sentiment really directed towards Gojo? He must really be going soft, but he kinda knew he was screwed the moment he saw a sliver of his daughter in this kid. Toji scratches the back of his neck, surprised that he’s not more surprised with himself. “Oh, and one more thing.”

Well, you know what they say. Go big or go home.

Gojo is looking at him expectantly. Toji heaves a deep sigh. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Gojo’s jaw drops a little. It’s a solid minute and a half before he finally chokes out, “Huh?”

Jeez. Toji folds his arms across his chest. “Well, it’s like ya said before, right? We’re stuck with each other now. You’re a pain in the ass, and I’m not gettin’ paid nearly enough for this, but I guess I’ve gotta look after you.” 

Just a few short words, but Gojo is looking at him like he’s just said the meaning of life. Toji doesn’t really know how to deal with that, so he breaks the kid’s gaze and sweeps his eyes across the landscape ahead of them instead. A flash of speckled skin catches his eye and Toji jabs a finger in its direction. “Hey, I think that’s our target.”

Gojo remains out of it for another few seconds before pulling himself together. “Yeah. Yeah! Let’s go!”

They bolt after the curse, who instantly writhes against the compacted snow at the sudden intrusion. A horrifying roar is ripped from the lungs in its chest, spittle flying off its four tongues as it pivots around to face them. It scurries with those eight creepy legs into a cave on the side of the mountain, a gaping cavity in the rock that seems freshly torn. 

“Help!” Toji hears someone cry, and he whirls around to face the desperate voice. The tour bus is dented and smeared with acidic saliva but its passengers are huddled inside, clutching each other for dear life as the curse rambles towards them. “Save us!” a child calls.

Toji stills. Save us. What’d Gojo say before? You can only save people who want to be saved.

Well. These people want to be saved. A familiar feeling slams into his chest, that determined surge of emotions he’d felt when he was fighting the special grade curse to save Maki, and then suddenly it’s easy. Each of the people here is someone’s family.

Toji sprints towards the curse and grabs one of its ankles, flashing it a wolfish smile that’s all teeth. “Nice to meet ya, gorgeous. How about a drink?” 

He flings the beast towards the back wall where Gojo is waiting. “Toji! Use that sword of yours to kill it!” the kid shouts.

“Sword of mine?!” Toji barks back. “It ain’t mine, it’s my daughter’s! I didn’t even bring it!”

“What?!” Gojo snaps. “Why are you so--” He’s cut off by the curse detaching half its limbs, arms reaching out in an attempt to wrap around Gojo’s neck. That goes about as well as you’d expect; they implode upon impact with Limitless and Gojo trawls his cursed energy into a glowing vermillion sphere, ready to hit it with a violent burst of Reversal: Red. 

The other two of the curse’s detached limbs fly towards the bus. Fuck, it’s going for the wheels.

Well, Toji can handle that. He surges over to the bus, slides his body beneath it, and heaves it up above his head.

The passengers scream at the sudden lift, but thanks to it the curse’s attack just barely misses. Toji feels the residual energy from a blast of Gojo’s attack; Blue, he detects, even though he’s not facing the kid. He eases the bus back down and returns to the fight, as the curse regenerates more limbs and attempts to grasp them.

Okay. Toji can sort of, maybe, kind of, possibly, somewhat, a little bit understand why the two of them should be partners. Gojo said they’d need to train together to get used to each others’ fighting styles, but Toji doesn’t honestly think it’s even necessary. Maybe three death matches, even if Toji can’t remember one of them, got them used to each others’ movements on an instinctive level -- they don't need words to communicate, and they don’t even need to look at each other for him to know exactly what Gojo is doing. The fight is over in less than a minute, oozing purple curse blood spattering against the walls of the cave when Gojo hits it with a final shot of Red.

After a few tense seconds of silence, the bus of passengers bursts into cheers, tears of relief, joy, and gratitude staining their slackened faces. “Thank you!” they’re saying, over and over. “We’re saved!”

Yeah, Toji could get used to this.

Toji arrives home the next day, tugging Maki into a tight hug when she welcomes him home. He feels a strange sense of pride in himself at actually coming home to his waiting child, but his brain short-circuits when Yuki pecks him on the cheek upon heading out. Judging by the bags of popcorn and scattered soda cans, the two of them had a movie marathon; Maki’s eyes are rimmed with violet, as if she’d hardly gotten any sleep. Maki tells him how she and Yuki had stayed up late talking in between movies, and it makes Toji’s heart squeeze in his chest. 

It’s a few more days before he sees Gojo again. He stops by in the middle of the day without warning, which Toji supposes he’s just gonna have to get used to. At least Maki’s at school so she doesn’t have to run into this clown.

“Yo!” the kid greets with a casual wave. There’s a canvas bag slung over his shoulder that swings as he teeters through the doorway. Man, Toji’s gotta get a deadbolt or something. Not like it would help, but it would prove a point. “Catching up on your rest, old man? I get it, physical activity must be strenuous for people your age.”

Toji frowns. “Oi, I’m only--” he snaps his jaw shut. “Hey, do you know how old I am?”

“You’re 34,” the kid replies, surprisingly quickly. It makes Toji wonder just how much else the kid knows about him that he’s not saying. He’d ask for more details, if he wasn’t such a coward. He still recalls Yuki accidentally saying how many people wanted him dead. “By the way, you missed your own birthday recently. Isn’t that totally hilarious?”

“Not really,” Toji grumbles. “When was it?”

“December 31st.”

Uh, okay. Toji jots it down in the jumbled clutter of mental notes scrawled across his head. Well, even if he’d known it was his birthday back then, he doesn’t think he would’ve spent it any differently. “Happy late birthday to me, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Gojo sets down his bag on the counter. “Anyways, brought you some presents! Not for your birthday, though. These are specifically because you’re a dumbass.”

Toji rubs his temples. He can feel a migraine coming on real fast. “Wow, thanks.”

“You’re welcome! I’m not really sure how much you actually remember about the jujutsu world, so I brought you some books to catch you up to speed. Don’t need you holding me back, now.”

Isn’t that the whole reason they’re partners in the first place? To keep this idiot from running wild? He eyes the books Gojo smacks onto the counter. Ew, seriously? Toji genuinely cannot remember the last time he picked up an actual book, if ever.

“The hell do you want me to do with these?”

“Um, read them?” His face splits into an irritating smirk. “You can read, can’t ya?”

“Of course I can read, jackass!” Toji snaps.  “We’ve texted before!”

“Actually, you’ve never replied to any of my texts, so I really had no way to know for sure.”

“Don’t count on it happening now,” Toji mumbles. “Fuck around and find out if I’ll really block your number.”

“Yeah, I have like, six phones.” The brat fishes out one last item from the bag. “Uh, by the way. I also brought--here.” He places a neatly-wrapped gift onto the counter. “Give this to your daughter for her birthday, or something.” He looks a little guilty in a way Toji can’t quite place but shakes it off a moment later. “Don’t open it or anything, nosy guy. It’s not for you.”

“Yeah, ‘course not,” Toji says, and opens it the moment Gojo walks out the door. Hey, he’s not just gonna give his daughter a random present from the guy who almost murdered him without checking it first. Toji feels a little bad that he doesn’t know when Gojo’s kids’ birthdays are, but whatever. It’s not like they’d ever expect anything from him, right? He peels back the wrapping, the birthday-cake printed paper crinkling as he carefully unfolds it to survey what’s inside.

It’s a little stuffed duckling. Toji vaguely recalls telling Gojo offhand that Maki had been sad when the family of ducks took off for the winter; he’s surprised Gojo remembered, because not only does that mean he actually listened, it also means he actually cared. The mental image of Gojo stumbling cluelessly through a toy store trying to pick something out is dangerously close to sweet, and Toji finds himself chuckling under his breath.

Okay, so maybe Gojo isn’t the worst guy on the planet after all.

-----------------------

Gojo feels like the worst guy on the planet right now.

He swirls the empty canvas bag absently around his wrist as he trots down the metal staircase from Toji’s apartment. This would be so much easier if Toji were a terrible person, but he’s not. Gojo’s heard that a hard reset is often the best way to repair something that’s broken; like turning a machine off then turning it back on again, sometimes the problem just fixes itself. 

It’s strange. Some of the residual effects of Toji’s lifetime of abuse and tragedy are still there, but maybe not directly remembering it made him less hollow and cynical than he’d been when they first met; further, having a kid around seems to have softened him. Kinda makes Gojo wonder why he abandoned Megumi and Tsumiki to begin with. 

Well. Not like Gojo minds that last thing. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, or something like that. 

God, he’s so sappy when it comes to them. 

He makes his way through Tokyo back to his building. He jabs the elevator button to his penthouse a little harder than he probably needs to, because he’s too lazy to practice his short-range teleportation right now. He’s okay at it so far, but it takes a lot out of him. The doors open with a little ding and he meanders into the main room nonchalantly, burying his doubts so deep into the back of his mind they compact into fossil fuel. 

“Hey, kiddos! I’m home!”

“Welcome back, Satoru!” Tsumiki chirps, padding over to him with a friendly smile. From the couch, Megumi throws him an unenthusiastic wave without looking away from the Pokémon episode flashing across the TV screen.

“Megumi! I know you missed me too! C’mon, say hi, say hi!” Gojo sings.

“Hi,” Megumi deadpans, in the most flat tone capable of a human being. Gojo cracks up.

“Aw, Pokémon again? I still haven’t convinced ya that Digimon is the superior monster battling series?”

Megumi shrugs. “I mean, you seem happy with being wrong, but okay.”

“Pfft.” Gojo perches on the armrest of the couch like a cat. “What about you, Tsumiki? Have I pulled you over to the dark side yet?”

“I think they’re both equally fun!” she says earnestly. Gojo’s expression softens. She’s impossible to banter like that with, but it’s just so precious he can’t bring himself to mind. 

“Did you kids have a good day at school?” Gojo asks, kicking up his feet against the couch cushions. He’s aware that he’s contorted in a way no normal person would sit on a couch, but oh well.

Tsumiki’s face falls a little and she starts fidgeting with the heart-shaped buttons on her shirt. Megumi turns up his chin. Yeah, Gojo knows what this means.

“Yamanaka-sensei wants to see you again tomorrow,” Megumi states.

“Oh? And what for?” Gojo says with a wide grin, because he already knows the answer.

Tsumiki frowns. “Megumi got into another fight with that one bully, Matoba.”

Gojo turns to face his son. “Did you kick his ass, Megumi?”

“Obviously, Satoru.”

“Awesome. Fuck yeah, stick it to ‘em.”

“You shouldn’t encourage him!” Tsumiki declares, thrusting her hands resolutely to her tiny hips. “It’s not okay to hurt others.”

She looks so distraught that it makes Gojo a little sad, but this happens every time. He ruffles her hair affectionately. “I know. I’ll talk to Yamanaka-sensei and iron everything out, okay? It’ll be alright.” He’s actually gotten pretty good at flirting the warnings off Megumi’s report cards. He prods Megumi on the shoulder, who instantly shrugs him off. “Megumi, did you hear her? It’s not okay to hurt others.” Gojo stifles a laugh. “Unless they deserve it. Or if it’s funny. But those are the only two acceptable times.”

“Satoru!” Tsumiki whines. Gojo just laughs. He has about as much ability to scold them as he does at frying eggs, but it’s too fun for him to care.

After a moment, Gojo straightens up on the couch. “What do ya want for dinner?” He’s found they don’t really mind takeout every night as long as he plates it first. They’ve caught him pretending to pull dinner out of the oven as if he’d cooked it a couple of times, but whatever.

“How about that okonomiyaki place down the street?” Megumi suggests.

“Nice try. No. Tsumiki gets to pick tonight because she’s a good girl.”

Megumi’s cheeks puff up at that. Cute. “But I couldn’t be a good girl even if I tried.”

“Well, ya win some, ya lose some.” Gojo waves him off and looks at his daughter. “So. What’s on the menu for tonight?”

Tsumiki’s face lights up like a sunrise at dawn. “Ramen!”

Food’s on the table about twenty minutes later. Megumi reluctantly slurps his noodles while Tsumiki happily feasts away. Gojo twirls his ramen around his chopsticks, ignoring the fact that he’s playing with his food the same way his kids do. Well, more like Megumi does. Tsumiki tends to be more proper. 

Memories from earlier in the day thump against his head like a heavy-beating drum all throughout the meal. Toji had looked at him a little like he wondered what Gojo knew about him that he didn’t; if only, Gojo muses to himself. Toji might try to kill him again, if he found out, and that could be the end. It could be. 

“Hey, kids,” Gojo says after dinner. The question crawls up his esophagus and threatens to tear through his throat, ready to suffocate him if he doesn’t speak it soon enough. When he finds his voice it’s hoarse and grating. “What would you do if I found your dad?”

His kids both go quiet at that. Tsumiki squirms in her seat and Megumi snaps one of his chopsticks, the cheap wood splintering into jagged shards. “Why would that even matter?” Megumi sneers. “I would want nothing to do with him. He abandoned Tsumiki and I and left us all alone to rot and starve. What kind of person would ever want a father like that?” He sets his broken chopsticks onto the table, expression far too bitter and jaded for a six year old. “Honestly? I wouldn’t even care if he’s dead.”

Gojo swears he can feel a knife literally plunge into his heart. “You don’t mean that.”

“How can you be so sure?” Megumi shoots back. “It’s not like you knew him.”

Fuck. Gojo just barely gulps down the acid that rushes up his windpipe. “Do you even remember him?”

“Not really,” Megumi replies. “I’ve blocked it out.”

What kind of kid has to block out their childhood before they’ve even left it? Gojo’s chest sinks. “Do you, Tsumiki?”

“Well, he and my mommy eloped, so I only met him once,” Tsumiki begins. “That was the last time I ever saw her. Because of that, I did everything I could to forget about him. Honestly, I...I don’t really remember anything about him, either.” Tsumiki sniffles. “All I know now is how much of a monster he was for taking my mommy away from me.”

Shit, he can’t take much more of this. Gojo lets out a shaky sigh and opens his mouth, but Megumi beats him to it. “Why?” he asks. “Did you find him?”

“No,” Gojo whispers, even if his conscience is kicking and screaming at him when he says it. “It was just hypothetical.”

Megumi surveys him, watchful. His dark lashes flutter when he looks away. “Okay.”

“So--” Gojo begins, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his lip from trembling. “That means even if I did find him, you guys would still wanna stay with me, right?”

“Of course!” Tsumiki chirps. “You’re the only guardian we need now, Satoru!”

God, she’s such an angel. Gojo doesn’t know what he did to deserve her. “Megumi?” he croaks. “What about you?”

For a while, there’s no reply. It’s a deafening kind of quiet, the kind that roars in Gojo’s head like a radio stuck on the same channel, his ears ringing with static. He knows he’s a sorry excuse for a parent, still barely of age, and probably less mature than the kids he’s supposed to be raising.  After about thirty seconds, Gojo resigns himself to the notion that Megumi just isn’t going to reply; he’s caught somewhat off-guard when in a voice barely louder than his breathing, Megumi utters, “Yeah. I would wanna stay with you too, Satoru.”

And Gojo can’t hold himself back after that. He pulls them both into his arms with a sigh of relief, crashing over him with the force of a tsunami. He’s screwed, he knows; everything blowing up in his face someday is obviously inevitable, but dammit, he’s gonna hold onto this for as long as he can. Tsumiki throws her arms around him and nuzzles into his neck. Megumi doesn’t hug back, because he never does, but Gojo doesn’t miss how he scoots a little closer.

“Alright,” Gojo murmurs. “I’ll watch over you forever then, okay?”

Gojo barely gets any sleep that night. It doesn’t matter if his eyes are open or closed; all he can see is that look on Toji’s face when he stopped their fight, roaring that he wouldn’t let his child be taken away from him. The raw emotion in his voice had been furious, desperate. For only the second time in his life, Gojo had honestly thought he might be about to die. 

And what would’ve happened then? Tsumiki and Megumi would’ve been left all alone, again. Gojo can’t afford to fuck up, not anymore. He was once indifferent towards the idea of dying, but he was only living for himself back then. It’s almost funny how little he knew what he was getting into when he took Megumi and Tsumiki off the streets and into his life.

Nauseous, Gojo rolls over onto his stomach, Toji’s rough yet kind words from their first mission together echoing in his mind like wind whistling through a canyon.

‘I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re stuck with each other now. Guess I’ve gotta look after you.’

Fuck, he feels sick.

Morning comes and Gojo ushers Megumi and Tsumiki off to school -- leaving him alone with his thoughts, which is always a fun time. Maybe bothering the old man will make him feel better about the whole betrayal and child theft thing; probably not, but it’s worth a try. Even if it fails, getting on Toji’s nerves promises to be more entertaining than sorting through boring mission requests that are totally beneath him, let alone the two of them together.

He’s more tired now than he was yesterday, but he supposes he should work on his short-range teleportation at some point. Hey, he might be able to teleport right into Toji’s kitchen if he really puts his back into it. 

He misses, but only by a little bit. He makes it to Toji’s front porch and kicks open the door with his heel, ignoring the way he definitely does not hear a deadbolt meant to keep him out snap in the process.

Toji is speaking when he saunters inside. “You’re terrible at this.”

“Be quiet! I’m trying to concentrate,” a little girl quips, then both of them stop talking. Oh, shit. Gojo paralyzes in the entryway when three pairs of eyes glue onto him.

“Gojo,” Toji grouses, and it’s in how articulate he says it that Gojo knows he’s really in trouble, “What the hell are you doing here?”

How he manages to look so intimidating despite two tiny children painting his nails is beyond the scope of human understanding. That glare, feral and wild and animalistic, activates a fight-or-flight instinct inside him Gojo never even knew he still possessed; it makes the healed seam on his left shoulder pang with agony as if it’s freely gushing blood again. At least Gojo had been right about that one thing during their fight: it really did leave a nasty scar.

“Gojo?” the girl repeats. Her hair is the same color as Toji’s eyes, so there is some physical resemblance, even if it isn’t half as much as Toji’s resemblance to Megumi; but more than that, the way they carry themselves is exactly the same. That squaring of their shoulders indicating constant readiness to fight, their blood humming like a live wire, dangerous and electric -- their heads held high with a unique brand of dignity, no matter how many times Gojo knows they’ve been stomped on. 

Yeah, it makes sense that he’d think this girl is his daughter. Gojo heard of a young lady in the Zen’in clan that had been killed somewhat recently, he just hadn’t assumed it would be her. Guess it’s convenient they’re both technically dead. On paper, at least.

Maki sets the bottle of nail polish beside her, fingertips dripping with red. The bloody color is a little ironic. “You’re the one who hurt Toji.”

Oh, shit. Toji’s jaw drops. “How do you know that?”

“I overheard Yuki say it a few weeks ago,” she grouses, her attention still drilling straight through Gojo’s skeleton into his marrow.

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Well, uh, we did get into a bit of a scuffle once--” Well, okay, not once, but that's not the point here. “--but we’re friends now!”

Toji levels him a disapproving look. Yeah, friends might be a bit of an overstatement. “Err, coworkers?” 

Maki and Toji both look like they’d beat him up together if this other kid weren’t here. Judging from his civilian level of cursed energy, Gojo can only assume he’s a non-sorcerer -- not like Toji and his not-daughter follow along with that, though.

“Hi! I’m Yuuji Itadori!” the boy announces, kicking his little feet with excitement, somehow completely oblivious to the murderous aura radiating off the other two people on the couch. “Maki and I have today off from school, so we’re doing a spa day! Can I paint your nails too?”

“Sure,” Gojo agrees, almost too quickly. Anything to get Maki and Toji from boring their eyes right through his skull. He should just cut his losses and get out, but something about the idea of Toji staying this angry at him is distinctly unappealing.

It’s easy to pretend Maki isn’t glaring at him when he sits beside Yuuji on the couch, but it’s hard to ignore -- and suddenly he’s acutely reminded that the sword capable of cutting through Limitless is actually hers. He has zero doubts that she knows how to use it. He wonders if she can tell he’s a sorcerer. Probably. She grew up around Naoya, she must know an asshole teenage sorcerer when she meets one.

“So you’re Toji’s coworker?” Maki says. “And what do you do specifically?”

Gojo’s eyes widen. Oh, she totally knows. How the hell is he supposed to answer this in front of Yuuji and Toji? He gives Toji a look of panic; the old man seems unsympathetic, but still saves him the struggle of responding.

“We, uh...we save people together,” Toji explains. Maki softens a little at that, just enough for Gojo to feel like he can breathe again.

“Whoa! You save people?” Yuuji exclaims. “That’s what I wanna do when I grow up!”

Not like this, Gojo says to himself as the kid starts sloppily painting his nails. Yuuji picks up a thin-tipped marker with a look of concentration, his little tongue sticking out through a gap between his teeth.

“Do you want a design?” the kid asks.

“What kind of designs do you know how to do?”

“None.”

“Perfect. Give it your best shot, little guy.”

Yuuji gets to work, scribbling on his nailbeds. “I’m gonna do flowers,” he declares. “Do you have a favorite flower?”

Huh. Gojo has genuinely never given it any thought ever before. But he remembers a day back in second year when he’d been wandering with Suguru through a garden, their fingertips brushing together accidentally-on-purpose, his one and only pointing towards a tree on the far side of the gravelly walkway. “Uh, plumerias.”

“What’s a plumeria?”

Just think of the gayest flower you can possibly fathom and do that, Gojo almost says. He can’t help the way his mood dampens a little, much like it always does when he remembers his almost-ex. They were totally dating! Suguru just hadn’t known it yet. Instead he clears his throat and replies, “Kinda like a daisy, but with thicker petals and less of them.”

“Okay!” chimes Yuuji. “It’s gonna look really pretty, I promise!”

“I believe ya,” Gojo chuckles. Yeah, he does not believe this kid in the slightest.

He’s pleasantly surprised, though -- the kid’s not actually half-bad. Gojo is absolutely keeping this manicure for as long as possible, just to piss off Yaga and the higher-ups.

Maki seems like she wants nothing to do with him. Gojo supposes he can accept that. 

“Why do you wear sunglasses inside?” Yuuji inquires.

“Because it looks awesome,” Gojo replies.

Toji snorts; Gojo elects to ignore it. Whatever, his fashion sense is nonexistent.

“Cool! Can I try them on?”

Well, Gojo figures he can put up with the headache for a little bit. Besides, it might win him some points with Maki and Toji; he’s not gonna try to analyze why he cares about that. “Sure, but only for a second.”

He passes Yuuji his pitch-black glasses and watches in amusement as the kid waves his hand in front of his face, blinded. “Whoa, I can’t see a thing. I bet I’d walk right into a tree if I wore these outside. I totally want some!”

Gojo has never really liked any kids other than his own, but why is this one kind of adorable? Honestly, Megumi could use a friend like him. They'd complement each other perfectly.

Shortly, Yuuji returns his glasses then gets back to work on his manicure. “So why do you kids have the day off?” Gojo eventually asks.

“It’s parents’ day tomorrow,” Maki explains. Nice, she’s not ignoring him for the moment. “The teachers have to prepare the classrooms and put together our report cards.”

Oh hey, it’s parents’ day at Megumi and Tsumiki’s school tomorrow, too. It’s gonna drive Megumi up the wall to have him there, which of course is all the more reason to go. “Ooh, sounds fun. Yuuji-kun, what do your parents do for a living?”

Yuuji startles at the question and jerks in surprise, accidentally smearing a black line across Gojo’s fingers with the marker he’s using. He clamps his mouth shut and averts his gaze to the floor, looking strangely crestfallen. 

Toji shoves off the couch and picks Gojo up by the scruff of his collar like a kitten, dragging him to the opposite side of the room. He plops Gojo down and folds his arms across his chest.

“They’re dead, asshole,” Toji growls under his breath. Gojo stills. How the hell was he supposed to know that? His guts churn with guilt all the same. “Normally he’s fine about it, but ya really had to ask today? He’s already depressed about the fact that tomorrow, he doesn’t have anyone to take him.” Toji scrubs his temples. “Me and Yuki offered to, but everyone already knows we’re not his parents, so none of us have a clue what to do.”

Okay, he’s just gonna ignore ‘me and Yuki’ and the ‘we’ in ‘we’re not his parents’ for now. There’ll be plenty of time to rub Toji’s stupidly obvious crush in his face later. “That kinda sucks.”

In agreement, Toji grunts. “Yeah, it really sucks. Ain’t he such a cute kid?”

Gojo nods at him. “Yeah, real cute. Sure hope nothing catastrophically tragic and life-ending happens to him within the next five to ten years.”

Toji’s eyebrows narrow. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

Gojo shrugs. Where would he even begin to answer that? All he knows is that the end result would be shock therapy. “Hey, you never know with these things.”

The old man thrusts his hands onto his hips. “Oi, brat. Be helpful for once and take him to parents’ day tomorrow.”

Gojo frowns. “I can’t! It’s parents’ day at my kids’ school too!”

A reply in the form of rolled eyes. “Has anyone ever told ya that you’re totally useless?”

“No, actually,” Gojo chuckles.

Toji gives him a flat look. “You’re totally useless.”

Pfft. Gojo can’t decide if Toji being the one of the only people to treat him like an actual human is wonderful or terrifying, but for now it’s just funny. “Hang on, I know someone who might be able to help.”

He excuses himself and whips out his phone, pulling up the contact even though he has the number memorized. He presses the call button and raises the device to his ear. True to his nature, the recipient picks up after the first ring.

“Gojo, I told you not to call me anymore,” a gruff voice says from the other end of the line. 

“That’s no way to greet someone!”

“I don't care. Goodbye.”

“Wait! You haven’t even heard what I’m going to say yet!”

“I’m not interested.”

Gojo gulps. “Hey, don’t hang up on me. I’m not going to ask you to come back, I swear.”

“Oh?” the voice says, intrigued. “Then what is it?”

“It’s just…”

Gojo lets his gaze wander back to Yuuji. His eyes are downcast, youthful mirth drained out of those shining pools and replaced with something too close to acceptance for Gojo to stomach. A sweet kid like Yuuji doesn’t deserve to be alone, not now. He’ll convince this person to help, he has to. Besides, he’s got a funny feeling it’s not going to take very much convincing.

“...I need you to do me a favor, Nanamin.”

Chapter Text

Nanami scrubs slow circles into his aching temples, the first hints of a migraine already threatening to send pangs of discomfort throughout his head. It has been exactly five months, three weeks, and four days since he last spoke to Satoru Gojo, and even ten times that still would’ve been too soon.

“Excuse me,” he begins, already exhausted. He’s not sure whether to be more disappointed in Gojo or himself that Gojo is somehow still capable of surprising him. “You want me to pretend to be a child’s father?”

“Oh, c’mon!” Gojo pleads from the other end of the line. Nanami can practically hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “It won’t be that hard!”

Nanami sighs. “In case you don’t recall, I am eighteen years old. How do you expect me to pass for the father of a child who is--” Nanami pauses. “How old is he?”

“Yuuji-kun! How old are you?”

“I’m six!” a little voice chirps from somewhere behind Gojo.

“A six year old?” Nanami huffs. “You must be out of your mind.”

“Well yeah, that’s a given,” Gojo says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which it is, Nanami supposes, if you’ve ever spoken to him for more than three seconds. “But you look so much more mature than eighteen, thanks to that giant stick up your ass!”

Nanami quirks an eyebrow. “Is this how you ask someone for a favor?” He readjusts his grip on his phone. “I’m not good with children, Gojo.”

“Don’t worry, this one’s easy. I’m pretty sure you could give him a crunchy leaf and he’d be entertained for hours.”

Frowning, “Is he an idiot?”

Gojo snorts. “A little bit, but in a cute way.”

Nanami shakes his head. “I’m really not sure about this,” he replies, lowering his voice. His lunch break is long over -- this is not a conversation he wants his boss to be overhearing. His coworker in the cubicle across from him is already giving him a strange look; why can’t people just mind their own business? Nanami always does. 

“Nanamin, please! Don’t you wanna be a DILF?”

“What the hell is a DILF?”

“It means Dad I’d Like to--”

“If you finish that sentence in front of my daughter, I’m gonna wring your skinny neck,” an unidentified voice snaps. Immediately, Nanami feels a connection with this nameless person. The man’s tone of exasperation is almost identical to his own, down to the last subtle intonation.

“Fine, fine,” Gojo exhales. “Listen. If you meet him and decide you don’t want to do it, then I won’t call you for a year.”

Nanami’s eyes widen. He hasn’t been in the corporate world too long, but he knows a good deal when he hears one. “A year?” he repeats. “I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

“You’re so mean!” Gojo whines. Nanami physically couldn’t care less. “I’ll text you the address so you can swing by after work, okay? I’ll be here with him. We can catch up!”

Or not. Nanami is fairly sure sleep is what he’ll be needing to catch up on after today. “We’re not doing that,” he deadpans. “But I will be there.” He hangs up without saying goodbye.

He's found that he excels at compartmentalizing, so he doesn’t give the call another thought for the remainder of the workday. The clock strikes 5PM in the same instant Nanami rises from his seat, whisks his blazer off the back of his chair, and slings it over his broad shoulders. He glances at the address Gojo texted him and maps out the optimal route to arrive via public transportation.

Nanami arrives about half an hour later. It’s a fairly nice apartment complex in a quiet and safe neighborhood, so its inhabitants are hopefully reasonable people. That’s a relief. Nanami has found there’s a concerning shortage of reasonable people both inside and outside the jujutsu world. His slender fingers trace over the chilly steel handrail as he climbs up the steps, and when he knocks on the door, it’s already ajar. It swings open with a light tap.

The door opens to a sprawling and bright apartment with deep cherrywood floors and a marble-covered kitchen. Christmas decorations are still up despite the fact that it’s January 15th, and there are a few pizza boxes stacked on the edge of a counter. Gojo is reclining on the couch, obscuring the silhouette of what must be the young boy in question behind him. A little girl in glasses is scribbling on Gojo’s face with what appears to be permanent marker -- and he’s letting her do it, for some inexplicable reason. Strange, he would’ve had to drop Limitless for that.

But most importantly--

Nanami’s heard stories and seen a few blurry pictures, but he recognizes the man the moment he lays eyes on him simply from his terrifying aura alone. “That’s the Sorcerer Ki--”

Gojo is up in an instant, crossing the room in less than a heartbeat and smacking a hand over Nanami’s mouth before he can finish the alias. “We’re just gonna chat outside for a sec!” Gojo calls to the room’s inhabitants in an airy yet terse voice, then shoves Nanami out the door and slams it behind them.

When they’re outside, Gojo leans his lanky form against the doorway in a posture far too tense to pass off as casual. “Hey, Nanamin! You got rid of the emo haircut! I gotta say, the pushed-back look is really workin’ for ya.”

Nanami flares, tightening his tie just to find something to do with his hands. He finds himself wishing he still had his glasses; he’d never admit it, but readjusting them was always a nervous habit. “Why is the Sorcerer Killer inside on that couch?!” he hisses. “I thought you killed him!”

“Oh, funny story! That actually didn’t work.”

Talking with Gojo is either a sprint or a marathon, with no in-between. Both are equally unpleasant. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Well if I told you he was here, you wouldn’t have come!” Gojo says, then his smile that’s always just to the left of artificial falls away for a moment. When he speaks again, it’s in a tone halfway between bitter and amused. “Besides, what are you so worried about? It’s not like you’re a sorcerer anymore.”

Nanami refuses to take the bait. Gojo already guilt-tripped him enough after he made the decision to leave. He’s blocked Gojo’s number several times, but he just keeps getting new damn phones. “Why is he here with you?”

Quickly, Gojo resumes his frivolous nature and flaps a hand dismissively. “Jeez, drop the murderous aura, won’t ya?” A little slice of a smile uncovers the white of his teeth. “Play nice with my new partner, Nanamin.”

“Your new what?!”

“Yeah, we’re on the same side now!” Gojo flashes him a peace sign that makes Nanami want to break his fingers a little. “We got into a bit of a death scuffle when we ran into each other again, but then we came to an understanding and now here we are! Best buds!”

“I strongly doubt that,” Nanami grumbles, and Gojo’s lips downturn. Called it. “I find it incredibly hard to believe that he’d want to work with you after all that.”

“Well, here’s the thing--” Gojo taps on his chin. “He has amnesia.”

Nanami’s jaw drops. “What?”

“Yeah! He doesn’t have a clue about anything that happened before our big fight! So be cool for the first time ever and don’t tell him, okay?” 

Nanami scowls, dread pooling in his stomach. “So he doesn’t even know he was the Sorcerer Killer? You’re being too naive, Gojo.”

“But if he doesn’t remember it, it pretty much never happened, right?”

“I’m not sure his victims’ families would agree,” Nanami grouses.

Ignoring the gravity of Nanami's words, Gojo clasps his hands together and gives Nanami his best attempt at puppy eyes. Unfortunately, Nanami is not the one person that has ever worked on. “Na! Na! Mi! Don’t ruin this for me! Pretty please?”

Nanami shakes his head. “I would’ve thought you’d be the last person on earth to want to partner with him after the trouble he caused you.”

But Gojo just sighs. “I guess you could say...I owe him for something.”

Nanami knows better than to ask him to explain himself. Gojo will talk himself in circles just to dance around the answer. “Who is that girl?” he asks. It was already virtually impossible to take Gojo seriously, but the mess of inky black squiggles she drew on his face voids the chance entirely.

“That’s his daughter.” Gojo’s fingers wrap around the doorhandle. “Listen. I promise I’ll explain more later, okay? Now c’mon, let’s go inside and meet your new son!”

“He’s not my new son.”

“Aww, lighten up. Trust me! Kids give life purpose!”

What an odd thing for him to say. “How would you know?”

There’s a stutter in his step at that, but he catches his balance before Nanami can think twice about it. They walk back inside and over to the couch.

“Yuuji-kun! Say hi to Nanamin!”

“That’s not my name.”

“Hi Nanamin!” The child waves at him so hard Nanami briefly worries his arm will fall off. “I’m Yuuji Itadori and my favorite animal is a tiger! What’s your favorite animal?”

Nanami pauses. “I don’t have one.”

The child hops up and down. “Oh, that’s a good answer! You like them all so much you can’t pick a favorite, right? I’m that way sometimes too!”

“No, I--” Nanami cuts himself off. He might not be good with children, but he isn’t entirely without tact, either. “Something like that.”

“Awesome!” He leaps back onto the couch and the cushion bounces against the energy of it. “How do you know Toji-ji?”

It’s impossible to describe the look on the Sorcerer Killer’s face right now. Those sharp emerald eyes are peeling Nanami apart, like he’s trying to read between the lines of a book written in invisible ink. Nanami opens his mouth to respond before Gojo beats him to it.

“He’s my friend, actually!” Gojo exclaims. Friend isn’t exactly the word Nanami would’ve chosen. “He works at a different place than me and Toji, though.”

Yuuji seems unfazed by it. “What’s your job, Nanamin?”

“I’m a stock broker at a portfolio company.”

Yuuji blinks up at him. “What’s your job, Nanamin?”

Nanami sighs. “I sell money.”

“Whoa, awesome!” Yuuji brightens. “Can I buy some money?”

Wow. Nanami folds his arms across his chest. “Perhaps when you are older.” Not that he should be looking forward to growing up.

“Then can I have some now for free?”

“No.”

Yuuji pouts, but it lasts a grand total of two seconds before he perks up again. “Nanamin! We’re doing a spa day! Can I paint your nails?”

Frowning, “No. I have work.”

The child deflates a little. “Oh, okay.” 

The Sorcerer Killer’s daughter has gone back to drawing on Gojo. One cheek is covered in scribbles and she’s currently doodling the sloppiest frowny face Nanami has ever seen on the other. The Sorcerer Killer looks supremely pleased with this.

Nanami sighs. Yuuji looks so crestfallen he can’t help but cave. At least the 24-hour mart near his apartment should sell rubbing alcohol and nail polish remover. “Well, alright.”

“Yay!” Yuuji’s bright disposition immediately returns, so sparkling Nanami almost thinks the clouds have parted from the dim winter sky. Nanami slowly sits beside him on the couch, holding out his hands. 

The child unscrews the nail polish and lifts up the brush, dripping dots of polish all over his clothes. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I was watching a cooking special on TV yesterday. I learned that some ramen broth is cooked using mushrooms as a base! Isn’t that awesome? I totally want to try something like that!”

Nanami readjusts his hands so the child can paint them more easily. “You want to try to make it or you want to try to eat it?”

“Yes!”

Oh, that’s interesting. Cooking is a hobby Nanami has recently fallen into, as well -- he’s found it’s both relaxing and strangely rewarding, since he has so little control over everything else in his life. Nanami hasn’t seen that particular special yet, though he does have it recorded on his TV. “That sounds...nice.”

Yuuji nods excitedly. “Yeah! Me and Maki were gonna try to make it and Toji-ji is gonna be our taste tester!” He looks back and forth between Nanami and Gojo. “Do you guys wanna be our taste testers too?”

“Yes,” Gojo replies, literally in an instant. 

The Sorcerer Killer huffs and rolls his eyes. “Meddling little pest,” he grumbles. If Nanami didn’t know better, he might think the man was holding back a smile.

Unsettling. Nanami pinches his brows. He’s already mapping out ways to get out of that. “I...I’ll have to see if I’m available.”

“Okay!” Yuuji chimes. He picks up a marker and begins drawing a design. “Can I borrow your tie, Nanamin?”

“What for?” he says, unwinding it. He hands the tie to Yuuji.

Yuuji unravels it and wraps it around one of Nanami’s wrists, tying it in a big fancy bow with a glowing grin. “There! Now it’s perfect!”

Nanami looks down. It’s...festive, for lack of a better word. Upon closer inspection, the child has painted little yen signs onto several of his nails. “Since you sell money!” the child explains.

That’s--a bit endearing. Nanami really isn’t good with children, but Gojo was right in saying this one is not too bad. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”

“So why are you visiting your friend, Nanamin?” he asks.

Nanami blinks. Gojo didn’t tell Yuuji what he was here for? It’s odd that Gojo actually gave him the chance to back out without getting the child’s hopes up. 

“Just stopping by,” he replies. He stumbles on the lie but sticks the landing. “We had considered making plans for tomorrow.”

“It’s parents’ day at my school tomorrow,” Yuuji begins. “I’m so excited! I’m gonna get to meet all my friends’ families! Normally my grandpa would take me, but he’s in the hospital again. He said maybe I could draw a picture of my parents to show my friends. Do you wanna see it?”

“Sure,” Nanami replies.

“Thanks!” Yuuji springs to his feet and pads over to his backpack. He rummages through it for a while before tugging out a book with a folded piece of paper tucked between its pages. He skips back to the couch and unfolds the drawing. “Look! I’m really proud of it!”

And with good reason -- the drawing certainly is impressive, especially for a child his age. Brightly-colored crayon decorates the paper in waxy spirals, with crisp, clean lines bleeding into softer patches of shading. 

However, none of that is what catches Nanami’s eye.

There are two little halos above his mother and father, and fluffy angel wings behind them. The child’s grip on the paper falters for a moment, and Nanami feels a piece of his heart fall with it.

Oh.

So that’s why he needs someone to take him.

Nanami is no stranger to tragedy. It came with his former occupation. He’s made more than his fair share of house visits, because Yaga always taught him that families should be informed of the loss of a loved one in person. Eventually, he’d gotten used to it; the crying, brothers and sisters collapsing beside each other on the floor, clutching one another as their shoulders shook with despair. Nanami hates to admit he learned how to deal with that.

But this child -- this he doesn’t know how to deal with. The acceptance in his eyes, like he’s lost all hope for something he never even had to begin with.

Nanami realizes far too late that Yuuji has been talking for a while and he hasn’t been listening. Yuuji is pointing at the drawings of his parents. “I don’t really remember what they looked like though, so I kinda made it--”

“I can take you tomorrow,” Nanami cuts Yuuji off, surprising himself. He hadn’t even realized he’d been about to say that.

In response, Yuuji’s breath hitches. “Huh?”

“If you’re alright with it,” Nanami adds. Gojo is giving him a triumphant grin that looks strangely close to genuine, but it isn’t nearly as disconcerting as the fact that the Sorcerer Killer is smiling, too. 

“Of course I’m alright with it!” beams Yuuji, then he throws his arms around Nanami.

Nanami feels himself tense up despite years and years of training against it. “Why are you squeezing me with your body?”

“It’s a hug, Nanamin!” Yuuji giggles. “Thank you!”

Unsure of what to do, Nanami pats the child on the back.

Well. He supposes he can take a paid day off.

Nanami arrives bright and early the next morning to meet Yuuji just outside the gates of his school. Nanami had gone to bed far earlier than usual the night before, in hopes of preparing himself for this -- but he’s proven wrong within seconds when the child slips a hand into one of Nanami’s own and tugs him towards the school.

“C’mon, Nanamin! I’m so excited to show you all the cool stuff I’ve been doing!”

Nanami blinks. This is fine. There’s a strange child holding his hand that he now must pretend to be raising, but it’s fine. Really. He steadies his breathing and continues to allow the child to tug him along like a fish on a line.

When they reach the school building, they’re greeted by a short woman with long black hair pulled into a low ponytail. Yuuji seems distracted by a butterfly fluttering by. “Hello, Itadori-san! Nice to finally meet you! I’m Suzuki-sensei.”

“It’s Nanami,” he corrects, and because if there’s one thing he’s learned from the corporate world it’s how to make up bullshit on the spot, he adds, “Yuuji took my wife’s last name.” It feels off, leaving out the honorific. But if he’s going to pretend this child is his son, it’s probably for the best.

“Oh! Will she be joining us today?”

Nanami ponders for a moment. “She...is no longer with us.”

Why is Suzuki-sensei trying to suppress a smile when she says, “Oh, what a shame! I’m so sorry for your loss, Nanami-san.”

“It’s alright.” Nanami ignores Yuuji’s fidgeting as he tries to reach towards the butterfly.

Suzuki-sensei hands him a piece of paper. “Well, here’s a map of the school for you and your son’s reference!” she explains. You and your son. That’s...going to take some getting used to. “A-and feel free to ask me if you need any assistance, okay?”

Why is she blushing? Oh well. “I will.” Nanami taps Yuuji on the shoulder to reclaim his attention. “Let’s go inside, Yuuji.”

“I wanna show you my classroom first!” Yuuji declares.

Helpless, Nanami allows himself to be dragged to the classroom. Yuuji leads him over to a desk near the back of his class with his name on it, scrawled in messy katakana. There’s a folder of papers neatly gathered in the corner -- stacked by a teacher, most likely. He’s known him for less than a day, but Nanami isn’t sure Yuuji is capable of that kind of organization. Yuuji leafs through the papers and withdraws one of them, then pulls Nanami over to what must be the childrens’ reading corner.

Nanami sits down in one of the beanbag chairs and can’t help but freeze up for a moment when Yuuji cuddles up next to him. “Look, Nanamin! We did book reports.”

Proud, Yuuji hands him the paper. Nanami inspects it closer. “This is a drawing of a frog.”

“That’s what the book was about!” Yuuji explains. “I’m not great at reading yet. I can do it sometimes, but other times the letters look all fuzzy to me.” He kicks his little feet against the squishy chair. “But Maki helps me when I need it. She’s so smart!”

“Maki?” Nanami repeats.

“Yeah! Toji-ji’s daughter! You met her yesterday,” Yuuji says. “Maki is my bestest friend in the whole universe!”

Nanami has been trying not to give the Sorcerer Killer any thought today. He saw him briefly just before the day began, but they went off in different directions. “I see.”

“Here’s the book,” Yuuji points out as he pulls a picture book from the shelf. “Will you read it to me, Nanamin?”

“I--I suppose,” Nanami responds, accepting the book when the child hands it to him. “You’ll have to practice your reading eventually, though.” 

Yuuji returns to his side and leans up against him. Nanami has to put an arm around his shoulder in order to turn the pages.

No one has to tell Nanami he’s not an impressive storyteller. He’s been told his tone is too flat and his energy is lacking. But the child still hangs onto his every word, smiling like the sun every time he turns the page and introduces another character. When Nanami reaches the last page, Yuuji gives him an enthusiastic round of applause.

“Wow! That was amazing! I love that story. It’s my favorite, tied with every other story I’ve ever read.”

This child is loud, and it’s not just his voice. Everything from the bright yellow hoodie tugged over his uniform to the way his laugh lights up a room commands attention like the main character of a manga. Yuuji springs up and grabs the stack of papers again then flops back onto the beanbag chair beside Nanami. 

“Suzuki-sensei gave us an assignment to write about what we want to be when we grow up. I’m still not sure yet, but I think maybe I want to be a firefighter. No matter what, I know I want to save people!” He snuggles further into Nanami’s side. “Gojo-san and Toji-ji save people together. I think that’s so cool! Did you ever want to save people too, Nanamin?”

The question strikes Nanami like a blow to the chest, dragging what’s left of his heart to the bottom of his ribcage. He’d tried to, back then. Even thought that he could. But life is never that kind. All he remembers is Amanai’s blood smeared across Gojo’s uniform. Haibara’s cold body on the table in the morgue. “I used to.”

“I bet you’d be great at it!” Yuuji chirps, driving the stake in further. “You already saved me today, so I didn’t have to be alone!”

Nanami’s breath stutters at that. I saved him? “I…wouldn’t put it like that.”

“It’s true!” Yuuji insists. “Oh, and look!” He pulls out another paper from the folder. “My test scores have been getting better throughout the year. They used to be kinda bad, but I’ve been trying really hard and I’ve improved!”

As requested, Nanami scans the report card. “That’s good,” he begins. “In my opinion, improvement is more impressive than innate talent. I overheard a saying once that said, ‘Who would you want to pack your parachute?’” He crosses his legs. “The idea behind it is: would you rather jump from a plane with a parachute packed by a person that did it fairly well on the first try then never did it again, or a person who began not knowing how to do it, but over time, built up enough skill to master the task?” Nanami returns the card to the child. “Personally, I would select the latter every time.”

Nanami doesn’t fully understand why, but the child is gazing up at him with twinkling eyes, light from the fluorescents in the classroom gleaming in his irises like stars in the sky. “Wow,” he breathes. “You’re really wise, Nanamin!” 

Sighing, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I totally would!” Yuuji declares. “Um...I’m really glad you came with me today. Thank you for being here.”

Nanami gulps. Something is stirring in his chest, both unfamiliar yet nestled into the core of his being like an old friend. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. “I’m glad I came too.”

“Let’s go play in the sandbox!” Yuuji says, immediately distracted. Nanami’s somewhat thankful for that, given he’s having enough trouble processing everything else today. 

Nanami props himself on the edge of the sandbox once they’re outside, careful not to get his work slacks dirty. Yuuji plops right down in the damp sand with a puff of dust. He begins sifting through the sand with his fingers before handing Nanami a shovel. 

“Let’s build a castle,” he suggests. Nanami scoops up a pile of sand and begins forming a base; pointlessly, as Yuuji promptly dumps a bucket of sand onto it in a heap. Nanami finds himself doing most of the shapework as Yuuji slaps fistfuls of sand haphazardly onto the growing lump. Once said lump has reached a dubious height, Yuuji glances around and picks up a long twig. “We should use this as a flag!”

Is that wise? Nanami inspects the stick. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too long?”

Yuuji frowns. “Oh, maybe.”

“Don’t worry.” Nanami gently withdraws it from his grasp. “I will fix it.”

In his own way. Nanami hasn’t used his Ratio Technique for almost half a year -- it’s beyond the word bizarre to be using it now, in the sandbox during parents’ day of a child he met less than 24 hours ago. He finds the critical point of the stick’s weakness and snaps it to the ideal length. “Here you go, Yuuji. Now it’s perfect.”

Yuuji jabs it into the makeshift castle with a giggle. “Thank you, Nanamin!”

Just then, footsteps from behind him grow louder as Nanami turns around. “Yuuji! Wanna play on the playground for a bit?” Maki asks. “I need to get some energy out!”

“Yeah!” Yuuji springs up. “I’ll be right back, Nanamin!”

Yuuji and Maki sprint off, and Nanami finds his jaw dropping a little. There’s no way normal children are that fast. Can Nanami even run like that? He rises to his feet, then petrifies in his spot when the Sorcerer Killer casually wanders beside him.

“You’re a sorcerer,” he states. It’s not a question.

“I was,” Nanami returns. “Not anymore.”

“Can’t blame ya,” the man replies with a shrug. “It’s dirty work. And ya seem too sane for it. Gojo’s off his goddamn rocker, so it suits him.”

Aren’t you working with him now though? Nanami thinks, but he knows better than to voice it. “I suppose,” he agrees. “Jujutsu sorcerers are shit.”

“Ha!” The Sorcerer Killer barks out a laugh. “Ya got that right. So why the hell are you friends with Gojo?”

“He’s the most shit of them all.”

“Y’know, I think this is the start of a very beautiful friendship.”

Nanami hopes not. That feels like a disaster waiting to happen.

He squirms in his spot. Why are all the mothers looking at the two of them like that? Does Nanami have something on his shirt? Come to think of it though, the Sorcerer Killer’s shirt is awfully tight. With the salary he must be getting for putting up with Gojo, you’d really think he could afford clothes that properly fit him. 

“What I don’t understand is why he’s forcing you to be his partner in the first place,” Nanami says, a bit boldly. “Isn’t he strong enough to take care of missions by himself?”

Damn, that must’ve been the wrong thing to say. The Sorcerer Killer’s nonchalant posture immediately disappears, replaced by something taut and ominous like a rubber band about to snap. “Oi, don’t tell me you’re one of those people who only gives a fuck about him because of his strength. I’ll sock you in the face, see if I care that children are watching.”

Nanami can’t help but take a step away. It’s embarrassing, but it’s also instinctive. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t really have to spell it out for you like I did for him, do I?”

Nanami relaxes. He’s by no means calm again, but he doesn’t want the Sorcerer Killer thinking he’s trying to start a fight. “No, I don’t think so,” he says slowly. 

But the bitterness claws up his throat before long. ‘Gojo took the mission,’ Getou had said, as Haibara’s mangled body laid half-eaten on a table beside him. Nanami had draped a cloth over his eyes; he couldn’t even look. He’d said to Getou, ‘Why not just let him take care of everything by himself from now on?’ Nanami clears his throat. “It’s just that if he’d been the one to go on certain--”

“Lemme stop ya right there,” the Sorcerer Killer growls, tossing up a hand in front of him. “What, so you think that just because he’s strong means he has to solve everyones’ problems all by himself? I get that life ain’t fair, but that’s takin’ it too far. What a crappy take to have, thinkin’ the whole weight of the world should be on his shoulders. I mean, have ya seen him? He’s built like a goddamn beanstalk. He’d snap in half if he had to carry that burden alone.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Far as I’m concerned, he’s just a regular guy with a shit personality.”

“I see,” Nanami says softly. Is this really the same Sorcerer Killer he’s heard so many horror stories about? “I never thought of it like that before.”

“Yeah, that’s the whole problem,” the man snaps. “None of you people ever think of it like that.”

Pensively, Nanami pauses for a few seconds. “So you’re helping him carry that burden.”

He shrugs. “Guess so.”

“Why?”

“Cuz he’s payin’ me to.”

Nanami furrows his brows. He may not know this man very well, but that just isn’t the way someone talks about a person they’re only being paid to help. “Is that really all?”

The Sorcerer Killer is quiet for a long while. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, far, far too late. “Sure.”

He taps his foot against the ground impatiently. “Yuuji seems to like ya so far,” he eventually adds, just to change the subject. “Seemed like you were nervous about it on the phone yesterday. The kid’s easy to please, though.” He chuckles under his breath. “Apparently one of Gojo’s kids gives him a real tough time. Ain’t that hilarious?”

Nanami swears he can feel his jaw physically hit the ground. “Gojo has children?”

“Yeah, ya didn’t know?” he says, giving Nanami a funny look. “They’re adopted, apparently. I haven’t met ‘em yet, but it seems like he really loves ‘em, from the way he talks about it.”

“I did not know,” Nanami enunciates, still very much in shock. What the hell has he missed since the two of them last really talked? All he’s done is hang up on Gojo for at least the past year and a half.

The two of them stand in somewhat uncomfortable silence as they watch the children play. Nanami finds it very difficult not to think too hard on why both Maki and Yuuji both have strength that matches or exceeds what most of his classmates had at Jujutsu High, when both of their ages are still in the single digits. 

A small group of parents is pointing at Nanami and the man beside him while whispering amongst themselves. “Hello, Tsukumo-san!” a bold woman calls. The Sorcerer Killer throws her a lazy wave.

Nanami’s eyes widen. “Tsukumo?” he repeats. “As in Yuki Tsukumo? Are you her husband?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he replies, only half-listening. “Wait--I mean-- no! Uh, no, she’s not my wife. She just helps out with Maki sometimes, she’s not her mom or anything. We haven’t done, y’know, that--” He clears his throat. “Not that I would be opposed--”

Nanami has to stifle a snort. He’s only met Yuki once, but if there’s anyone that could turn the infamous Sorcerer Killer into a rambling mess, it would be her.

Right as if on cue, a stunning blonde woman saunters up to them, a cropped black blazer draped across her sculpted shoulders. The Sorcerer Killer trots over to her.

“Hey, beautiful lady. Way to show up fashionably late,” he chuckles, snaking an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek that lasts a few seconds too long. Yuki’s face burns crimson.

Ah, so this is one of those they’re-married-but-don’t-know-it-yet situations like Gojo and Getou had back in high school. Well, at least before that blew up in their faces when Getou had a homicidal mental breakdown.

“Oh, hey! Nanami, right?” she greets, shaking it off. “I never got to ask ya when we first met. What kind of woman is your type?”

Huh. Nanami tilts his head. He doesn’t really have a preference for any specific gender, so how should he answer this? “Someone who thinks work should end at 5PM, no matter what.”

“Hah!” She lets out a hearty laugh. “Love it.” She nudges the Sorcerer Killer, whose arm is still around her. “C’mon, big guy. Let’s look around! Show me a good time.”

The man coughs into his hand to cover up--something. Nanami doesn’t know what. “Maki’s on the playground, go find her and I’ll catch up with ya in a sec.” He turns to face Nanami. “Here, gimme your number. Yuuji doesn’t have a phone, so I can text ya when he’s over at our place next time.” He pulls out a flip phone that’s missing at least three buttons. “The kids are pretty good chefs. Ya won’t regret that ramen tasting.”

Reluctantly, Nanami gives it to him. After he and Yuki manage to draw Maki away from the playground, Yuuji pads back to his side. “Did you make friends with Toji-ji?” he asks with an earnest expression.

Nanami sighs in resignation, and he can’t help the feeling that his life has just become a whole lot more complicated. “Sure.”

Two days later, Nanami receives a text from the Sorcerer Killer informing him the children have invited him over to taste their newest recipe. It’s Sunday now, so he can’t use work as an excuse, and lord knows he wouldn’t be caught dead working on the weekend. Not even homework, back when he was in high school.

He’s at the residence exactly an hour later. He knocks politely and waits to be invited in, even though he can tell it’s unlocked. He’s not just going to barge in unannounced. Who is he, Gojo?

“Heya, kid. Thanks for stoppin’ by,” the Sorcerer Killer says when he swings open the door. There’s a snapped deadbolt opposite its hinges; Nanami doesn’t have to ask why. “Yuuji’s been runnin’ his mouth about ya since Friday. Bet he’ll be thrilled you’re--”

“Nanamin!” a tiny voice calls from inside, and Yuuji zips to the door. “You came!”

He throws his arms affectionately around Nanami’s leg, giggling so much he can feel the laughter’s vibrations in his veins. The Sorcerer Killer gives him a sympathetic grin. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

Nanami genuinely does not think he will. He reaches down a hand to gently pry the child from where he’s clinging to Nanami’s leg like a baby sloth to its mother. 

“Hello to you too,” Nanami says. The air smells of rich broth and fragrant spice, wafting throughout the apartment in a savory steam. Nanami has to gulp down the way his mouth waters a little, much like it did when he watched the ramen special Yuuji mentioned on TV last night. Which he will most definitely not be admitting aloud that he did.

Unsurprisingly, Yuuji is not a patient child. The moment Nanami extracts him from his leg, he grabs a hold of Nanami’s hand to drag him to the counter with a concerning amount of strength. 

“We’re almost done, Nanamin,” he tells him. There’s a smear of egg yolk all over the left side of his face and stray spices spot his hands like freckles.

A recipe for disaster. Nanami frowns. He’s going to get the whole kitchen dirty if this continues. He dampens a napkin and crouches down in front of the child, wiping him as clean as he can manage -- in short, not very. “What am I going to do with you?” he sighs. “You’re making a mess.”

Nanami rises and scans the counter, attempting to group scattered tools and ingredients into semi-organized piles. Key words being semi and attempting. “But we already made a mess!” Yuuji says.

“I can see that.” He rinses off a cutting board coated in a thin film of onion. 

“I tried to stop him,” Maki tsks. Nanami seriously doubts that.

“Pfft.” The Sorcerer Killer snorts from where he’s lazing on the couch like a contented lion in the sun. “So you’re gonna put up an act in front of the nice man, huh? You were throwin’ flour at him earlier. Don’t lie, looks bad on ya.”

“Then teach me to lie better,” she returns with a smirk. 

He straightens up. “Oi! I’ve been tryin’!” He swivels towards Nanami. “I really have. It’s my speciality.”

Nanami shouldn’t comment on that, but he can’t stop himself. “I’ll make sure the ‘Father of the Year’ award is mailed to this address.”

“Ha!” He flops back down. “I knew we’d get along.”

This is getting along? Before he can retort back, Yuuji is tugging on his shirt again, smearing food residue onto its crisp folds. “We made the noodles ourselves,” he declares. “It was really fun! Look, Nanamin. I made this one into a snake.”

Nanami lifts a brow. “This just looks like a normal noodle.”

“Not if you use your imagination!”

It’s a bit depressing how severely lacking Nanami is in that department. “...I suppose I can see it.”

They’re interrupted by the door banging open. “Yo, time to get this show on the road!” Gojo crows, with no other greeting. 

The Sorcerer Killer looks at the children. “Alright kids, you heard him. Curtain call time. No encore.”

“But I just got here!”

“Gojo,” Nanami says. “Can we talk outside?”

Nanami doesn’t miss the way Gojo's eyes twitch behind those obsidian lenses. “Okay.”

Nanami swiftly follows Gojo out. When they’re outside, Nanami leans against the railing.

“Listen. If I’m going to associate with the Sorcerer Killer, I need you to tell me everything.”

“It’s Toji, actually,” Gojo corrects, looking genuinely annoyed. “He’s not the Sorcerer Killer anymore, he’s just a normal dad.”

It’s a bit peculiar, hearing him say that. Hadn’t Toji called Gojo something along the lines of ‘regular,’ too? “Fine. But you still owe me an explanation.”

And so Gojo explains -- how they’d fought and Toji lost his memories, his bloodstained slate wiped clean by Gojo’s hand. How Yuki had healed him, much to his surprise. How he’d wandered around without a purpose until he found out his daughter was being abused by the Zen’in clan and took her in, giving her a life worth living. How the two of them clashed, and it ended upon realizing how much they had in common and came to an understanding. How he’d given Toji a better job that allowed him to support his family, how Toji begrudgingly became a partner Gojo could rely on.

Still, there are holes in the story. Nanami can’t help but poke his fingers through and pull. “What’s this I hear about you adopting children?”

Limitless hums against the air, tense and abrasive. Nanami swears he can feel it push him back. “Yeah, about that,” Gojo stutters. “After Toji’s actions back then started Suguru on that downward spiral, I…had a bit of an identity crisis. Found two kids on the streets and decided to take ‘em in. You asked earlier how I knew kids give life purpose?” He gulps. “Now you know.”

Nanami narrows his eyes. “Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?”

Gojo’s lips tug into a tense smile stretching just a little too wide that still doesn’t reach his eyes. “Because you don’t trust me.”

Touché.

“And about that,” Gojo continues. “You look tired, and it’s not just your body. Your soul seems weary, Nanamin.” His eyes soften. “Sounds like you could use a little purpose, too.”

Oh, no. Nanami knows exactly where this is going. “I do not have room in my life for a child.”

“Don't you ever feel empty, Nanamin?” Gojo presses. Every damn day, Nanami thinks. “Having something to protect would be good for you.”

“It’s not about it being good for me,” Nanami shoots back. It wouldn’t be good for Yuuji, is the real problem. Since when has Nanami ever been able to protect anything? All he can remember is Haibara’s lower half being devoured by the jaws of that curse. 

He died screaming for help. The last thing he ever saw was Nanami fail to save him. “I just don't think I should be trusted with that,” Nanami mumbles.

In response, Gojo frowns. “Nanamin, he needs someone.”

Nanami shakes his head. “He has Toji, doesn’t he?”

“Well yeah, but Toji has another kid to worry about.”

Nanami can’t help but smirk at that. “And Maki, too.”

It takes a second for Gojo to figure it out. When he does, Gojo pulls a face. “Ugh, ew! He’s not my dad!”

“Ah, right. He only watches over you for a living, defends you when you’re misunderstood, and teaches you important life lessons to help you become a better person.”

Gojo folds his arms and nods, satisfied. “Yeah, exactly!” He pauses. “Wait--”

“In any case,” Nanami interrupts. “I can’t deny that Yuuji is a kind child, and that it’s pleasant spending time with him. But I--”

“Listen to yourself!” Gojo cuts him off. “I’m not asking you to be his dad, but would it really kill ya to hang out with him every once in a while? I dunno, it might surprise you.” Gojo swallows hard. “It’s rewarding.”

Nanami can hardly believe those words are coming from Gojo’s mouth. “I--” He scrubs his face with his hands. He doesn’t think he signed up for this. “Fine. I suppose it wouldn’t.”

“Yay!” Gojo cheers. “Now let’s go inside and hang out with your son!”

“Gojo, you just said you weren’t asking me to be his--”

But Gojo doesn’t let him finish. He skips into the apartment with vibrant laughter, leaving Nanami no choice but to follow behind him.

Nanami finds Yuuji scrambling over the countertop, reaching his tiny hands into a high cabinet near the ceiling. “Yuuji, what are you doing?”

“Nanamin! I’m getting serving bowls!” he chirps. “You can sit down at the counter, we’ll get you ramen soon!”

“That’s not what I mean.” Nanami jogs behind him and lifts Yuuji into his arms, off the counter and to the safety of the ground. “You shouldn’t stand on the counter like that. You could fall.”

“I’ve done it before!” Yuuji insists. “I can do it!”

“I’m sure you can,” Nanami sighs. “But I am an adult, and you are a child. It’s my duty to leave the more dangerous tasks to myself.”

Nanami gingerly stands atop the counter and withdraws the dishware, then allows the children to plate the meal. 

It’s delicious, as expected. Toji is shameless when he has five servings. Maki dumps an entire bottle of chili powder into Gojo’s bowl when he isn't looking, and even Nanami can’t help smiling when he coughs broth out his nose.

After they’re all stuffed, Toji shows them out. Nanami can hear the children laughing as they fling soap at each other in some feeble attempt to clean the kitchen.

“Hey, don’t forget to give Maki my present at her party on Tuesday,” Gojo says.

Toji sighs, and Nanami could almost call it fond. “Why don’t you give it to her yourself?”

Gojo’s breath snags in his throat. The midwinter sun is dipping below the edge of the horizon, painting watercolor streaks of jewel-toned twilight into the evening sky; but it’s nothing compared to the hope dawning between the broken clouds in the sorcerer’s eyes. “...I can come?”

"You’re just gonna complain if ya don’t, right?”

“No way! I never complain! I’ve never complained even once in my life! How could you even say that?!”

“Don’t look now, but you’re complainin’ this very moment. You comin’ or not?”

Gojo’s expression falters. “Would Maki be okay with it?”

Shrugging, Toji replies, “Sure, she’d be thrilled as long as you continue to let her bully you.”

Gojo nods at him. “I’m great at parties, you’ll see. Plus, it wouldn’t be a true party without me, because I’m your favorite person ever.”

“Idiot, you don’t make the top ten, and I don’t even know ten people.” He turns to face Nanami. “You’re invited too, kid. I’m sure Yuuji would love to see ya.” Toji smirks. “I think he’s gotten attached.”

Now Nanami's sure he didn’t sign up for this. “I suppose I can come.”

Two days later, it’s Maki’s birthday. Nanami doesn’t know what to bring her, so he purchases a pasta machine with a ramen attachment. Hopefully she’ll get good use out of it. Toji has recycled the use of the still-present Christmas tree and shoved a mountain of presents for her beneath it, which is--sweet, Nanami has to admit. Gojo is already there, desperately arguing against being used as a pinata for Maki. He’s losing.

Yuuji greets him excitedly at the door with another hug, and Nanami has to scoop him off the ground to keep him from tripping over his own feet. He helps Yuuji cut the cake and serve each of the guests slices. Yuki is equally shameless as her not-husband and sneaks an extra slice off Nanami’s plate when she thinks his back is turned. When Nanami turns around to glare at her, she just shrugs it off with a laugh.

It doesn’t take long for the party to devolve into utter chaos. Nanami really shouldn’t have put a real and genuine food fight above any of them. Yuuji smears frosting handprints all over Nanami’s shirt when Nanami shields him from Toji and Yuki’s pastry wrath. Maki attacks Gojo with flour somewhat violently, and he responds by flinging his remaining cake in her face. Maki hits him square in the chest with her own, and Limitless isn’t even there to stop her.

There’s no better way to describe Gojo literally letting his guard down around them. Maybe Toji had a point: he really does look just like a regular kid.

Nanami’s the one to clean up after everyone in the party, because of course he is. Maki ducks into her room to rinse off. Toji does the same, then emerges a few minutes later to give Yuki an old t-shirt of his to change into. Just a t-shirt, no pants. Nanami’s not going to comment on that. He’s not. It fits her like a dress, but still.

They all say their farewells and Toji walks them out, chucking a stray handful of cake at Gojo for good measure. Yuki, being the special grade sorcerer she is, rides home on her motorcycle in the freezing January evening in nothing but Toji’s t-shirt. Nanami can’t help but respect that. 

“Where do you live, Yuuji? I’ll walk you home,” Nanami offers. “Will your grandfather have a healthy dinner waiting for you when you arrive?”

“My grandpa is still in the hospital,” Yuuji tells him. “But it’s alright! I can make something myself!”

Seriously? Nanami halts in his tracks. “You’re going to be home alone?” he says incredulously. “Why don’t you just stay over at Maki’s?”

“I’ve been staying over at Maki’s a lot lately,” Yuuji says sheepishly. “I don’t wanna be a burden.”

“Don’t say that,” Nanami sighs. “You are only a child. You should never have to worry about being a burden.” He exhales slowly through his mouth. “Come. I will watch over you tonight.”

Nanami carefully leads Yuuji to the bus and then onto the train. Yuuji could probably find wonder in anything, Nanami muses to himself -- Yuuji stares at the scuffs of the lightrail like they’re constellations, at the smudges on the windows as if they’re pictures in a storybook. The two of them make their way back to Nanami’s building under the blanket of nighttime, and once they arrive, Nanami gives him an old sweatshirt the child practically drowns in to avoid getting frosting tracked inside the apartment.

Good grief, how did Nanami end up with a child in his house? Yuuji is giggling as explores Nanami’s modest abode like it’s an amusement park, climbing over the dining chairs and inspecting the island in the kitchen as if he’s expecting to find treasure. 

“Let’s watch a movie, Nanamin!” Yuuji says as he presses a handprint against Nanami’s TV.

“It’s late,” Nanami responds. “You should be going to sleep.”

“But I stay up this late all the time!”

“That’s not right. You are a growing child.” Nanami picks him up and props Yuuji in the crook of his elbow. “I will tuck you in.”

“But the couch is that way,” Yuuji says as he points over Nanami’s shoulder.

“You can’t be serious,” Nanami returns, and it’s a little heartbreaking that he knows Yuuji is. “I will take the couch.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Nanami rests Yuuji in bed, drawing the covers up to his shoulders once the child settles down. He fluffs up the pillow and swivels on his heels to turn off the lights and head back to the living room before a little voice stops him.

“Tell me a bedtime story, Nanamin.”

Nanami is not a creative person. But perhaps he can redeem himself for the uninspiring way he read the book to Yuuji the day after they met, and for his lack of imagination when Yuuji showed him the makeshift snake. “Very well,” Nanami replies, kneeling beside him. 

He doesn’t think he can make something up on the spot, though. Fortunately, he already knows what he can use as inspiration. “I will tell you a tale of two partners.”

Nanami draws in a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a strong man, and there was a wicked man. The strong man was known as the strongest around, and he was surrounded by people who praised him for his strength. He was given everything he wanted from the moment of his birth, and he was treated like a king throughout his whole life.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Meanwhile, the wicked man was everything the strong man was not. People scorned the wicked man, because his type of strength was not like theirs. Because of this treatment, the wicked man grew bitter, until he did not care about anything at all. He did lots of bad things just to try to survive.”

“Still, the strong man had someone whom he could call an equal: there was a kind man who stood by his side. The kind man believed it was his duty to use his power, and the strong man’s power, to protect others. One day, the strong man and the kind man were tasked with protecting a princess. However, at the same time, the wicked man was sent to capture her.”

Yuuji shifts under the covers, so Nanami readjusts his blanket. “A group of bandits tried to attack the princess, but the strong man and the kind man easily defeated them all. The princess and her handmaiden were escorted to safety, but there was trouble. A nefarious group took the handmaiden to a faraway land while the strong man and the kind man were diverted. The princess refused to leave her handmaiden behind, so the three of them went to save her together.” 

“The handmaiden was rescued, and the four people frolicked in the faraway land until it was time to go. They brought the princess to a palace, but the wicked man was there waiting for them. The wicked man attacked the strong man, who told the kind man to take the princess to safety while he bought them some time.”

“Astonishingly, the strong man was defeated. The wicked man caught up with the kind man and the princess outside the castle gates, and the kind man was defeated as well. The strong man soon awoke, but it was too late,” Nanami sighs. “The princess was gone.”

Yuuji’s eyes dilate. Nanami continues. “The strong man and the wicked man fought once more, and it was the strong man who was victorious this time. The wicked man was discarded, and the strong man and the kind man returned home empty-handed.” Nanami can’t help but frown at the memory. “Distraught that he could not protect the princess, the kind man’s heart became poisoned by darkness.”

He presses on. “The strong man’s strength continued to grow. People praised the strong man, but the more they praised him, the more he became alone. The kind man watched as the strong man’s strength increased while his did not, and tragedy continued to befall him. The kind man’s heart became darker and darker, until it was completely swallowed by blackness. The strong man loved the kind man, but it was not enough. And so the kind man fled.” Nanami’s eyes drop to the floor. “Having nothing left to protect anymore, the strong man became all alone.”

“Oh no!” Yuuji interrupts. “The strong man shouldn’t have to be alone!”

“All seemed lost,” Nanami says, holding up a finger. “After he was defeated, the wicked man wandered around without a purpose. It was as if...because of the strong man, he no longer knew who he was anymore.” He chuckles to himself. “But a beautiful queen came along and found the wicked man, and she decided to give him a second chance. Soon after, the wicked man learned that he had a daughter: a brave little girl. Upon discovering he had something to protect, the wicked man’s life was given meaning. Together, the wicked man and the brave little girl began to heal.”

“Still alone, the strong man longed to be with everyone. One day, the strong man found two lost children and decided to take them in, and all of a sudden, he had something to protect again, too. For the first time since the kind man left, the strong man felt a sense of purpose.”

Nanami leans closer. “But perhaps it was inevitable: that the strong man and the wicked man would clash once again. The two fought desperately, each determined to protect their loved ones. And upon discovering they both had something to protect, the strong man and the wicked man came to an understanding. They realized they were like two sides of the same coin, and decided they could help one another.”

“The strong man was shocked to discover that the wicked man didn’t care about his strength, and believed his strength shouldn’t mean he had to be alone. The wicked man toppled his pedestal; but there, on the floor, the strong man found he could share his life with others. And suddenly the strong man was surrounded by people: the wicked man, the beautiful queen, the brave little girl, and the two lost children. All of them stood on equal ground together.”

“And thus,” Nanami concludes. “Both directly and indirectly, thanks to the actions of each other, the strong man became the regular man, and the wicked man became the good man.” He smiles down at Yuuji, gentle and warm. “And they all lived happily ever after.”

“Wow!” Yuuji says, eyes sparkling. “That was incredible! The regular man and the good man sound so amazing! The beautiful queen and the brave little girl, too! And the two lost children!” He pulls his blanket up to his shoulders. “Do you think the kind man would ever come home someday?”

“I don’t know.” Nanami cards a hand through Yuuji’s unruly hair. “I hope so.”

“I want to give them all a big hug!”

“And perhaps you can,” Nanami murmurs, “in your dreams tonight. Goodnight, Yuuji.”

“Goodnight, Nanamin!”

Then Nanami rises to his feet, shuffles out the doorway, and flicks off the light.

-----------------------

Ten seconds into their first interaction, Maki decides Nanami is an incredible person.

Finally. Finally. Someone else with a working brain cell has joined their little group.

Maki loves Toji more than she’s ever loved anything in her life, but she pranked him last week by putting salt instead of sugar into his coffee, and he didn’t even notice. She’s proud to be using Yuki’s last name, but Maki once saw her dramatically delete Toji’s number after discovering he’d eaten the leftovers she trusted to their fridge. And Yuuji may be her best friend bordering-on-brother, but he was reduced to tears the other day when a classmate asked him to recite the alphabet backwards.

Maki doesn't even know where to start with Gojo. He’s just a lost cause entirely.

But Nanami’s got a good head on his shoulders, and apparently enough room in his hands to reign the others in on short leashes. He’s the first sorcerer she’s met that doesn’t piss her off in some way -- and he is a sorcerer, even if he won’t say it out loud. Maki can just tell. 

Of course, Maki’s eighth birthday was an extraordinary success -- she can hardly recall a time where she felt such pure and undistilled fun, as she devastatingly defeated Gojo in their cake-throwing contest. Maki can hardly describe the satisfaction she felt staining bright red frosting into his stupid snowflake hair. He didn’t seem to care, which was odd, but oh well. Maki will take wins where she can find them.

One of Toji’s presents to her was a heap of tickets to an amusement park: she’d stated offhand a few weeks ago that she’d never been to one, and she’s willing to bet he’s never been, either. Once Nanami was begrudgingly dragged into their lives, Toji bought an extra ticket for him. There had already been enough for Gojo to come too -- strange, but Maki didn’t think too hard on it. These things are best not dwelled upon.

“I’m so ready!” Yuuji cheers as he climbs into a sleek black car Gojo claims belongs to his ‘private chauffeur.’ The man in the driver’s seat seems exhausted already. The six people clamber over one another into the backseat -- there are elbows, a lot of them -- until they’re all squeezed in place. Yuuji’s distracted by the buttons on the windows, so Nanami buckles his seatbelt for him. 

“You all realize there are rules to the park,” Nanami reminds them. “For the safety of the guests. You can’t just cause a commotion.”

“Since when have any of us ever caused a commotion?!” Gojo denies, man-spreading his legs until everyone else has to squish themselves to accommodate him. “I’ve never caused a commotion, personally. I’m stealthy. I blend into the crowd like a chameleon.”

Toji kicks Gojo in the shins until he recoils back into a reasonable position. “Your outfit is causing a commotion already. Why do you have another Hawaiian shirt?” he snorts. “I’m callin’ the fashion police on ya. Yuki, make a bet with me on how many kids he’s gonna make cry.”

“A thousand.”

“You guys both suck!”

Maki cackles in her seat. Nanami leans back into his own, draping a hand over his eyes.

The rest of the ride goes pretty much the same. Toji and Gojo get into a strangely violent rendition of shiritori, while Maki and Yuuji play chopsticks across from them. Yuki bombards Nanami in an attempt to play 20 questions, which he answers ‘yes’ or ‘no’ every time. Including questions like ‘what’s your favorite color?’ His answer is ‘no.’

Nanami attempts to keep everyone to one cohesive group once they arrive, but that lasts about eight seconds. Toji and Gojo bolt off to the bumper cars, and Nanami’s forced to pursue to ensure no innocent children are harmed during their competition. Yuuji follows him like a little duckling. Maki promises to buy popcorn for everyone as they watch the two attempt to destroy each other in the ladybug-shaped vehicles.

Then Maki pads up to the popcorn stand and hands the attendant some cash Yuki gave her. She waits patiently as the man fills the bags. She’s just about ready to trot over to a bench in the meantime-- until a voice petrifies her in place, freezing the nexus of her veins into ice like a river in the dead of winter.

“Why hello there, little ghostie,” he sneers. “It’s not every day you see a dead girl walking.”

Maki turns around slowly. Her cousin’s arms are folded smugly across his chest, grinning like a hyena. Contempt surges so quickly in her chest she almost chokes on it. “Naoya,” Maki exhales.

“You know, your funeral was a real drag,” he continues, voice dripping with honey and malice. The air around him sizzles from the acid in his words. “I think your father just wanted presents. Your mom cried buckets, which was quite a surprise.”

Maki squeezes her fists until she digs half-moons into her palms with her nails, and she truly does not know what comes over her when she grouses, “My real mom wasn’t even there.”

There’s a twitch of confusion across his face, but it morphs back into arrogance before it can surface. “Those old fools were so desperate to get you out of their lives they didn’t even consider the possibility that you’d survived, but I know better.” He flashes her a Cheshire grin, half as wide but just as ghastly. “It’s common knowledge cockroaches are hard to kill.”

Conversations with Naoya are always some sort of twisted game, and Maki’s tired of losing. “Sucks for you, then, that worms are so easy to.”

He laughs, and the piercing on his tongue glints in the sun. “I haven’t told them you’re still alive yet. Aren’t I nice?” Maki doesn’t think she’s ever heard anything less sincere in her life. “Though I must admit I’m wondering what you’ve been doing since then.”

Maki sets her jaw. “I wouldn’t think you’d care about anything I do.”

“I don’t,” he snaps. “Unless it involves a certain someone.”

Ah, right. He’d waxed about Toji the way many exalt their idols in some sort of warped hero-worship complex. She’d seen that faint hint of mourning, buried beneath the haughtiness, when he first told her Toji was dead. Oh, well. Lots of people doubt their gods are real anyway. “Sorry it’s cliché, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sees through her as if she were glass just waiting to be cracked. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way.”

He must be bluffing. Maki doesn’t think he’d make a scene in a crowded place of non-sorcerers. She wants to say he knows better, but there really isn’t much she would put past him. “I--”

“Excuse me,” a strong voice, smooth and unwavering, says from beside her. “You need something from Maki, little boy?”

Yuki puts a hand on Maki’s shoulder, and Maki feels the sorcerer soak up all her tension as if it’s water from a sponge. She puts a hand on her hip, commanding like a general for a victorious army. “What kind of woman is your type?”

Slowly, Naoya’s lips tug into an uneasy smile. “I like a woman who knows her place.”

Yuki throws back her head and cackles, and Maki’s never heard that kind of darkness in her voice. “Y’know, that’s the first time someone’s ever given me an answer and I don’t believe them!” she laughs. “Ya talk big, but behind closed doors, I bet you’d love a real woman to step on you, wouldn’t ya? You naughty boy.” She steps in front of Maki, forming an impassable protective wall between her and her cousin, and for the first time Maki registers how incredibly tall she truly is. “Not that I’ll be the one to give you the discipline you need. I’ve already got a man who knows how to take care of me.”

“Special grade sorcerer Yuki Tsukumo,” he sneers, his cheeks reluctantly flushed pink. “I’ve heard of you.”

“Nice, how flattering! Can’t say that goes both ways, though.” Maki doubts that, but the impact is there. Yuki tosses her hair over her shoulder. “But if you’ve heard of me, then you know what I’m capable of. Take one step closer to Maki, and I’ll be happy to give you a firsthand demonstration.”

“How kind,” he jeers. “But I think I’ll pass. What I don’t understand is why you’re protecting her.”

Yuki’s posture steels, iron and resolute, and her words wash over the sparks of Maki’s panic like a spray of cool rain when she declares, “It’s my purpose.”

And Naoya can’t even try to hide his confusion and shock at that. His jaw drops, brows pinching together. “What the hell?”

Yuki texts something to someone behind her back, then turns towards Maki with a reassuring grin. “Now c’mon, sweetheart! Gojo’s waitin’ on that kettle corn you promised. Bet he’s whining about his blood sugar, or something.”

Naoya blinks. “Satoru’s here?”

Whoa, first name? Maki didn’t even know it. And then, like a genie from a bottle, or perhaps a spooky spirit from a crushed soda can, Gojo saunters over to the three of them as if summoned.

“Oh hey, Nao! Long time no see!” he calls. “How’ve ya been?”

“Satoru,” he responds. “What are you doing here?”

“Aww, I’m calling you by your old nickname but you won’t call me by mine? I’m so hurt!” Gojo replies, completely avoiding the true meaning of his question. “I’m just here to play around. Isn’t that obvious?”

Any of the frivolous air Naoya had been flaunting earlier douses like water over a bonfire. “Enough of this. Where is he?”

Maki hates how obvious it is that there isn’t any point to lying anymore. “Ah, I see you haven’t gotten rid of any of your Toji-related mental illnesses,” Gojo chuckles. “No offense, but I don’t think he remembers who you are.”

It’s strange how emotional Naoya looks, even if it’s only fleeting -- for a moment Maki can almost see what he must’ve looked like as a child, following Toji around like there was no place he would’ve rather been than his shadow. “So it’s true?” he says in a small voice. “Toji-sama really is alive?”

“Course he is!” Gojo chirps. “We’re totally besties!”

“You’re-- what?” Naoya chokes. “What’s he like?!”

“He’s a total asshole, but the good kind of asshole, unlike you, who just sucks as a person.”

Though Maki agrees, Naoya frowns. “That place beside Toji-sama belongs to me.”

Gojo flaps a hand dismissively. “Well, if we’re speaking in a strictly professional sense, it’s actually mine.”

“Seriously?” Naoya chuckles, and there’s something almost sad about it. “You excel at this, don’t you?”

After a beat, Gojo laughs a little uncomfortably. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re really gonna make me say it out loud?” Naoya sneers. “Don’t play dumb, Satoru. You know what you did back then.”

To Naoya’s credit -- which honestly, is never much -- Gojo does indeed look like he knows what he did. Maki thinks she might even catch a glimpse of remorse on his face, but she can only see it because her position allows a peek at his eyes from behind those black glasses. “But I am dumb!” he chirps instead. “In any case, it may be mine at work, but in a much more real sense, it’s Maki’s.” He waves him off again. “Y’know, family type of stuff.”

Maki wonders why he won’t outright say she’s supposedly Toji’s daughter. Maybe he’s trying to protect her?

A moment later, Naoya scowls. “Did you just say something nauseating?”

Gojo smirks. “Just because no one in your family loves you doesn’t mean everyone else’s families are the same way.”

“Oh, now you’re really rubbing it in my face, aren’t ya? Like you don’t know exactly whose fault that is,” he spits. Gojo flinches. “At least my daddy issues aren’t as bad as yours.”

Gojo lets out a single harsh laugh, and Maki’s never heard such sorrow in his cheerful voice. “Now that’s low, Nao.”

What the hell? Maki honestly can’t tell if they’re about to start crying or attacking each other. Yuki must feel the same, because she flicks Gojo on the shoulder to drag him back to reality and speaks again. “I bet you don’t even have a ticket to be here, kid. Why don’t you get going? Or we’ll have to call park security on ya.”

Gojo smiles, relaxed once again. “Park security is us, by the way.” Because of course his dense ass feels the need to explain the retort.

Naoya may be cocky, but he’s not stupid. He knows better than to think he can take on two special grade sorcerers and make it out alive. His eyes flick to Maki, and she swears he can hear him whisper under his breath, “Why you?” But then he shakes his head. “This isn’t over,” he grouses.

“Of course not,” Maki replies. “I still have to kick your ass.”

Then Naoya walks away, and he doesn’t look back.

When they finally catch up with Nanami, Yuuji, and Toji, the three of them are wearing matching clothing that reads, ‘I survived Death-Drop Tower and All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt.’ Nanami looks like he hates his life. Maki would be willing to bet her katana that he put it on against his will. 

“Oi, why do you people all look so shaken up?” Toji says. 

“We’ll fill ya in later,” Yuki replies. “Come on, Maki. We’ve barely explored yet! Let’s go have some fun!”

Maki nods, taking her hand when Yuki reaches out to her. “Okay!”

First up is the merry-go-round. Maki hops up onto a sleek black horse gilded with shining plastic jewels, polymer and faux-pearl reins trailing back to the porcelain saddle. Playful music resonates throughout the ride, and Maki can’t help giggling when Toji looks a little nauseous beside her.

“Nanamin!” she hears Yuuji call from somewhere behind her. “Why aren’t we getting any closer to Maki?”

“Yuuji, that’s not how a merry-go-round works.”

“Why not?” Yuuji cries. Nanami just scrubs his face with his palm.

Gojo insists on the spinning teacup ride next, which just seems like an impending trainwreck. Toji sits that one out -- a wise choice, which is uncharacteristic of him. Maybe Maki and Toji are sharing a brain cell now. She stays beside him and watches the four others dizzy themselves on the ride. Yuki, Gojo, and Yuuji all cheer the whole time. Nanami is quiet as a mouse.

After the ride, Yuuji gets totally sick, which Maki thinks is hilarious. He frowns, gazing up at Nanami. “Nanamin, I don’t feel well,” he wavers.

“You shouldn’t have gone on the ride,” he reprimands. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

Yuuji reaches his tiny hands up towards Nanami, eyes pleading. “Carry me, Nanamin.”

Nanami sighs, but Maki knows he’s gone. He shakes his head, hoisting Yuuji into his arms. “No more dizzy rides today.”

Giving in, Yuuji rests his head against Nanami’s shoulder. “Okay.”

Finally, they reach the main event that Maki’s been waiting for: the rollercoaster. Bummer that Yuuji -- and Nanami, by extension -- can’t come with her, but she’s looking forward to screaming her head off next to Toji. She sprints over to the line with the three remaining adventurers, but the ride attendant stops Gojo with a hand before he can board the attraction.

“Sir, I’m so sorry, but you’re too tall to ride the rollercoaster.”

Gojo deflates like a cat dropped into a bathtub. “What? No way!” he whines. “I’ll be totally fine, I promise!”

“Sir, it’s a liability concern--”

“I’ll hang back with him,” Yuki chuckles as she pats Gojo on the shoulder in a feeble attempt at comfort, as if she isn’t too tall to ride as well. Toji is cackling his ass off, propped up against Nanami from how out of breath he is from it. Even Nanami seems close to laughter.

The rollercoaster is better than Maki ever dreamed of. She squeezes Toji’s hand throughout the whole ride, and doesn’t even close her eyes when they loop upside-down.

After they’ve all tired themselves out, they flop back into the car, which had apparently been waiting for them there the whole time. Yuuji gets the good news that his grandfather is finally out of the hospital, so Nanami walks him home when they arrive back at Maki's apartment. Maki, Yuki, Toji, and Gojo all meander back indoors and drape themselves in various awkward positions of rest across the chairs and the couch, drained and exhausted.

“So what happened earlier?” Toji asks them.

Yuki looks at Gojo quizzically. “Yeah, genuinely, what the fuck was that?”

Gojo gives Toji a vague recollection of the encounter without really giving any further background Yuki asked for. When he’s finished, Toji’s expression pinches into a scowl. “What the hell? He sounds like a total prick.”

“Ha! He is,” Gojo laughs. “Wish it were that simple, though.”

“Is that the childhood best friend you were talkin’ about before?” Toji asks him. “Ya really did mean it when you said he grew up into an asshole, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gojo says, eyes downcast. Man, Maki learns something new about Gojo she didn’t want to know every day. “I did.”

“Shame,” Toji says with a shrug. “Maybe it’s too late for a guy like him. Some people are just a lost cause.”

But Gojo’s expression falls further. “Maybe,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “But maybe not. I think it’s still possible to save a person who’s done something really awful, as long as you can make them willing to be saved.”

Maki can’t explain it, but she gets the strong feeling Gojo isn’t only talking about her cousin. Whomever else he’s referring to, Maki couldn’t say.

“In any case,” Toji cuts in. “If there’s a chance you’re gonna have a showdown with that guy in the future, we need to ramp up your practice. Y’know what I think? I think you’re ready to start trainin’ against real sorcerers.” His lips stretch into a devious grin. “And I know exactly who we can use for target practice.”

Everyone in the room turns towards the obvious choice. Gojo pulls a face, pointing at himself as if he doesn’t already know he’s doomed. “Me?!”

Maki picks up a nearby napkin, presses it into a paper airplane, and flies it straight into his eye.

Chapter Text

Maki had many dreams growing up.

There was a time she dreamt her father would love her someday, but that dream died the first time he struck her. She once dreamt she could become head of the clan, now nearly all of them celebrate the false belief that she’s dead. Years ago she hoped that her family would finally accept her just how she is, but they painted her a fool for even daring to dream of it.

Once she met Toji and began living as his daughter, she found lots of new dreams to replace   her old ones, rotting in the deepest chasms of her graveyard heart. She dreams that someday she’ll be as strong as Toji, mirroring his unshakeable strength both in body and spirit. She dreams she’ll be as kind as Yuuji once she can overcome the hatred, echo his tenderness, wear his signature smile that rivals the sun. She dreams she’ll be a special grade like Yuki, proving alongside her that women can do anything, too.

And right now, she’s working on a new dream she’s determined to make a reality: punching Gojo right in his goddamn face.

Maki steels her posture. “Hold him down, Toji.”

Gojo scrambles away. “Hey! Hang on! How is that training?!”

“Oi, brat. Targets aren’t supposed to talk back.” Toji rolls up his sleeves.

“I’m not talking back, I’m standing up for myself! This is bullying!” Gojo whines. Maki cracks up. “I know because my son’s teacher had to give me a pamphlet!”

Toji snorts. “Ooh, a pamphlet?” He prods Maki on the shoulder. “Ya hear that, Maki? We got a real expert over here.”

“Damn right I’m an expert! There was a chart and everything!” 

It’s been about a week since Toji one-sidedly decided Gojo was the newest victim -- err, member -- of her training regimen, and it’s gone about as smoothly as you’d expect.

“Y’know, normally people thank someone when they do them a favor. You guys are lucky I was free today!” Gojo groans. “Toji, get me a gift basket. None of that ‘edible arrangements’ fruit bullshit, I want all sweets.”

Rolling his eyes, Toji says, “Yeah, I’m not doing that. By the way, why are you free today?”

Gojo thrusts his hands to his hips. “I’ve told ya already! My kids both have stuff on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My daughter plays piano and my son’s on a soccer team.” 

“Oh, right. Hey, look at ya, puttin’ in the effort to raise ‘em right,” Toji quips. Gojo flinches at that. What the heck? “Speaking of. Maki, you ever thought about joinin’ an after-school activity?”

Maki bristles. “What?! No way! Yuuji and I are already members of the going-home club!”

“Pfft.” Toji ruffles her hair. Maki’s used to that now, to the point where it’s actually become quite comforting. “Alright. Let’s start our own Tuesday-Thursday club, then. The Bullying Gojo Club.”

“There! Ya said it! You just admitted it! No take-backs!”

Maki ignores Gojo. She’s found it's a good strategy for conserving what little sanity she has left. “Hey, but if it’s after school that means I won’t be able to hang out with Yuuji!”

Gojo taps his foot insistently on the floor of their training room like a woodpecker with a deadline to meet. “Kid, if I’m gonna give up one or two afternoons a week to help ya, you gotta give up hanging out with Yuuji on those days, too.” But when Maki gives him her best watery-eyes look, his expression softens. Looks like he’s got the same dad-weaknesses Toji does. Oh man, that’s just hilarious. “Besides, it’s not like ya can’t hang out with him after. You guys finish school at--what, 2:30? I gotta pick up my kids by 5, so that’s plenty of time for us to practice, and early enough for you to still chill with your buddy.”

So Maki contemplates for a moment before responding. “That’s actually...sound logic.”

“Oi! Why do ya sound so surprised?!”

Toji shuffles across the room and swipes a wooden bō staff off the ground and tosses it to her without looking. “Come to think of it, what do ya do with ‘em when you’re out on missions and shit? Do they have to fend for themselves?”

“Of course not!” Gojo’s face twists, like he’s offended Toji would even ask. “I’d never just abandon them like their biological--”

He cuts himself off so abruptly that Maki can hear him puncture the soft flesh of his tongue with his incisors when he bites down on it. Oh, so his kids are adopted? That’s interesting. Maki actually respects him a little more for that.

She catches him lick a little drop of blood off his front teeth before he speaks again, smearing faded pink over gleaming white. “Nah, I’ve got a friend that stays with them when I’m out. She was hurt pretty badly recently, so she's been taking a break from missions. She gets along well with my son, but she's really close with my daughter. She just taught her how to do a french braid or something.” Gojo readjusts his sunglasses. “She's actually considering becoming a teacher, so she jumped at the chance to watch my kids when needed, despite the fact that she totally can't stand me.”

“She’s got great taste,” Toji retorts. “Say, when are you gonna let me meet your kids?”

Gojo immediately shifts all of his attention from Toji to Maki. “Ready to kick my ass?”

Wow, way to change the subject. Well, whatever. “I was born ready.”

“Perfect,” Toji says. “Gojo. Give her your glasses.”

Maki swivels her head towards him so fast her ponytail smacks her in the face. “Hah?!”

“Listen.” Toji crouches in front of her and meets her gaze, tapping a finger on his temple right beside his left eye. “Sight is the most powerful of the senses, but it’s also the most deceiving. Lots of sorcerers cover their eyes because those things can really pull tricks on ya. You and I have an advantage, in that way, that no one else on the goddamn planet has except us. Our other senses are more than enough to make up for it, but ya gotta know how to use them properly. That’s what it’s about, right? Trainin’ all of you.” Toji pushes to his feet. “I want you to get so good at honing your other senses that you could kill a special grade blindfolded.”

“Her very first training session against the most powerful sorcerer in existence,” Gojo begins flatly, “and you’re giving her a handicap?”

“Nah, not a handicap,” Toji chuckles fondly. “I’m givin’ you a chance.”

Gojo’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and his face splits into a childlike grin, genuine and honest, almost innocently so. “Nice!” he exclaims. “Hey, this might actually be fun!” He plucks his glasses off his face and slips them onto Maki’s. The world immediately blacks out like the flip of a lightswitch.

“Okay,” Toji begins. “What can ya see?”

Is this a joke? “Uh, nothing.” Isn’t that the point?

“That’s not what I mean, ya little pest. I mean, what do your other senses tell you?”

Maki shifts her stance. Faintly, she can hear Gojo’s breathing, smell the gentle aroma of his cologne. It’s a little cold in the room, and Maki’s skin prickles with goosebumps. Not much more beyond that. Maki’s lips downturn. 

“Nothing helpful,” she mumbles.

“Don’t rush,” Toji says softly. “Try a little longer. We’ve got all day.”

“Uh, we actually don’t have all day. Were you even listening to me earlier?” Gojo chimes in. The annoyance in his tone is enough to make Maki smile a little, calming her down, then she dives once again, tunes into her surroundings.

“Jackass. Unfortunately, I listen to everything you say. How else am I supposed to watch over you?”

Gojo’s breath snags at that; and Maki lunges for it, grasps it with white knuckles. There’s a staccato to it, uneven and hitchy. She can hear how it fills his lungs, pushes back against the rungs of his ribcage, slots into the empty space in the ladder. When he exhales, the air shifts against her like ripples in a pond.

“Hey, I heard that,” Maki says aloud. “And...felt it, I think.”

“Good,” Toji replies. “Keep going. Reach out further with your senses.”

And so she does. Her nostrils soon pick up the muted scent of sweat trickling down the sorcerer’s back, almost tastes the sanguine tang of blood from the cut on his tongue as iron stains the air. He sighs, sonorous as wind throughout a canyon. Maki feels it reverberate all around her, giving away his position like echolocation.

Then Toji speaks up again after a few minutes. “Gojo. Do that thing I told ya about earlier.”

“Got it, captain.” Then there’s a gentle whoosh as his feet leave the ground.

His presence...doesn’t disappear, though. Is he floating? The air sloshes around her as he flies around the room; he flips upside down, and Maki can hear each of his vertebrae click like the chain of a bike. The faint bloody smell follows him around. Maki feels like a shark chasing a wounded dolphin.

Maki listens closer -- to the crinkling of his clothing, the rustling of his hair. There’s something about his movements, smooth and playful, that are distinctly Gojo, making him instantly recognizable despite the fact that she can’t even see him.

Hey, maybe Toji was right about that.

“Maki! Get him!” Toji commands.

Maki pivots on her toes and jets the bō staff towards Gojo and he catches it, the wood clacking against his fingernails.

“Oh dang, you actually found me!” Gojo says, and it’s kinda funny that even he sounds a little proud. The thin outer coating of metal on his shoes clinks against the scratched hardwood when he lands. It’s not just the distinct part of the sound that gives away the different material; Maki swears she can almost see the exact scuff patterns on the floor, whether they’re going against or with the grain, just from the way his toes scrape against it.

“That was weird,” Maki declares, because her throat feels itchy with the need to speak. “Not difficult, but...weird.”

And then Toji bursts into laughter.

Maki peeks out from behind Gojo’s glasses. “Huh?” she says. “What’s so funny?”

“Kid,” he says between cackles that start as loud bellows and eventually diffuse into high-pitched giggling. “Ya do realize it would probably take a grade one sorcerer years to track Gojo like that?” He rakes a hand through his messy fringe and traces a finger over the scar on his mouth before pointing it at her. “You did it in twenty minutes.”

Maki can feel her memories of a life with the Zen’in clan pushing back against letting that statement sink in. The first time she told Ogi she wanted to be a sorcerer, he told her it was a destiny she could never hope to attain even in her wildest fantasies. Even Naobito, when he thought no one else but her father was listening, once murmured that he doubted even he was a match for the infamous Six-Eyes of the Gojo clan.

Ha. Sucker.

She knows it’ll be a long time before she can reach his level, but this is an encouraging start. “So what now?”

Toji walks over to her and flicks the glasses back over her eyes again. “Now we work with cursed energy.”

Uh. What?

“What?” she says aloud.

Toji shifts his weight. “You heard me.”

Yeah, she did. Maki squeezes her eyes shut, dives deep beneath her skeleton and rummages around in the wasteland within. As expected, there’s nothing, save for a few sparks that couldn’t light a match in a pool of gasoline. The candle inside her flickers then snuffs out, and Maki can’t help grinding her teeth in frustration. Toji asking her to do this feels like a slap in the face. Since the first time they trained together, all she’s wanted is to be like him.

“In case you don’t remember,” she snaps, “I don’t have any cursed energy.”

“I never asked you to use your cursed energy,” Toji replies, patient. “I want you to use his.”

Maki’s eyes open at that, though she still can’t see thanks to the glasses. “Huh?”

“See, that’s the thing about us,” he continues, and the plural form of the word simmers the flares of Maki’s anger like a spray of cool water. “Our lack of cursed energy is what makes us receptive to it: let it flow through you, open yourself to it. That’s why this asshole is the perfect first target -- since he’s got so damn much.” Toji leans against the wall. “Think of it like this. Rain  pools heaviest in the bottom of a valley. A dry sponge soaks up more water than one that’s already wet. Do ya get what I’m tryin’ to say?”

“Yeah,” Maki says slowly. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“Course ya do,” Toji replies. “Now focus. Construct an image of the idiot in your mind based on how his cursed energy fluctuates. It’s unique. Try to get a feel for it.”

Maki takes a deep breath and nods. She closes her eyes again just for the sake of doing it, just to force herself to slow down and wait. There’s nothing for a while, still nothing, and she’s just about to snap at Toji again that it’s not working until -- something. Like a wisp of smoke beckoning out to her, as if whispering, ‘Come this way.’ Maki follows as the tendril morphs into something hazy, then from something hazy into something more solid. 

It’s indescribable -- not dead but not alive, pulsing at random as if it had a will of its own. It starts as a soft trickle, the first sign that she might be ready for this, then the dam shatters and it surges through her like a flash flood.

Combining her senses with detection of his energy feels like an amp in an electric guitar. Maki wonders absently if each sorcerer’s cursed energy might have a different flavor to it; Gojo’s is warm, but strangely empty, a fire sucking out all the oxygen from the air, so much so that it’s almost stifling. At first Maki finds it difficult to breathe, smog inflating her lungs and choking her windpipe with a miasma of ash and the scent of a wildfire; but she remembers Toji’s words, to leave herself open, to let the aura in. If Gojo’s energy is a flame then Maki is an incinerator, within the hollowed-out channels where her own cursed energy should be, eating the heat from his body as she prepares herself to burn. 

It makes sense, just from the color of his eyes, that his cursed energy would be like this. Only the hottest part of a flame burns that shade of blue.

Behind her, Toji is a cold shadow. She can’t sense his energy so much as his presence, heavy and grounding like mountain granite or a pillar of pure titanium. She can understand, now, how his mere existence could strike fear in an army of hearts. Maki can almost feel it: his might, his willpower. An undefeatable spirit. 

Toji sighs with contentment. “You can see him now, can’t ya?”

Nodding, “Yes, I can.”

“You ready to start sparring with him?”

Absolutely. Maki strikes her ready stance. “I am.”

Gojo’s energy flickers, alive and hungry, crackling like thunderclouds of an impending storm.

Maki smirks. He can run, but he can’t hide. And so it begins.

Gojo moves first. The air’s pressure undulates against her skin until it feels like she’s underwater, rippling waves from his every movement flowing through her senses; the feeling tracks him like a compass then his energy alights like a river of stars, spilling across her senses in wide, sweeping brushstrokes. Maki maps his motions like constellations, finding patterns in the way he moves and then she discovers there’s order to it, a method to the madness. 

When she really focuses, she can feel vibrations in her veins from Gojo’s heartbeat, thrumming through her arteries with the pumping of his blood. There’s a sequence to it she can target, a hiccup to exploit -- that split-second stutter in the space between beats, a fleeting pause in the back-and-forth from action to preparation. It wouldn’t feel right to call him vulnerable; but it’s an opening, a chance, one she’s more than willing to take. 

So Maki darts after him. She swings low to the ground and swipes at his ankles; he’s forced to take cover in the air, which is exactly where Maki wants him. She surges off the floor and just barely misses the punch she drives in his direction, landing back on the hardwood with a dull thud. 

“Maki. Glasses off!” Toji calls. She casts them aside. “Watch me!”

And if fighting Gojo herself had been something else, then observing them is a true spectacle. It’s like watching a clash between two great forces of nature, a war between a hurricane and an earthquake, and they’re somehow both winning. Maki might be worried if they each weren’t smiling -- determined and more than a little bit crazed, as Toji hurls his partner into one of their punching bags which breaks upon impact, spewing stuffing out its crushed seams. Gojo’s quick to grab the bō staff and crack it over Toji’s head, and the two of them laugh loudly and openly. 

Toji beckons for her to join, then all hell breaks loose. Fighting alongside Toji is like a language only the two of them can understand and it’s easy to catch the trepidation in Gojo’s movements as he fails to translate it. It’s both in a metaphorical and literal sense that they’re backing him into a corner; Gojo teleports behind her and looks genuinely surprised when she still dodges the kick he sends in her direction. 

And Toji’s setting up the last attack, she can just tell. She recognizes that footwork -- they practiced it together early on, how to lead on your opponent and draw them right to the bullseye. Maki digs her heels back, leaps like a catapult. She draws her leg back and--

--this one’s for hurting Toji!

Her foot collides with his chest and knocks him back until he crashes against the wall, breathless, and he hacks out a scraping cough. Maki is left panting and winded in front of him. 

But it’s not just from the fight. It was real, she felt it; that was a true, genuine hit on special grade sorcerer Satoru Gojo. She retrieves his glasses from the floor and returns them to their rightful owner.

“Whoa,” Gojo exhales, slipping the frame back over his eyes. “You two really are alike.”

“Well duh,” Toji responds easily. “She’s my daughter.”

Gojo’s expression falters. “R-right.”

Toji sighs and drags his eyes across the wrecked training room half with pride and half with disdain. “Whoops.” He kicks a stray pile of stuffing from the now-empty punching bag. “Eh, worth it. That was pretty fun, huh?” Maki and Gojo both nod enthusiastically as Toji chuckles at them affectionately. “Go get yourselves some water or somethin’. I’ll be right there.”

Then Gojo flits out the room and Maki pads after him into the kitchen. Her shirt sticks to her back made tacky with sweat, drenching the ends of her ponytail. She lets down her hair and scrubs it in the sink as Gojo watches with disgust.

“I washed my hair in that sink too once,” he tells her. Maki levels him a perplexed look. 

“After a mission or something?” she asks. She doesn’t remember that. Maybe she was at Yuuji’s house that day?

“Uh...sure.” He knocks back an entire glass of water in a single gulp. “Y’know, your dad’s actually pretty nice when he tries to be.”

Maki turns up her nose. “I don’t wanna share him,” she shoots back. “Go bother your own.”

Oh crap, that must’ve struck a nerve. Gojo’s not nearly quick enough to hide the sorrow that spills across his features like a fragile glass knocked off a high shelf. The shards are swept up before long, but there’s still something so very empty in his expression.

Maki can’t help wondering about that reaction. Just what happened to Gojo’s father? By the look on his face, she’s not even sure she wants to find out.

“Ugh, fine,” Maki groans eventually. “But you can only be my big brother if you let me be president of the Bullying Gojo Club.”

A blinding smile spreads across his face and he laughs out loud. “You’ve got yourself a deal!”

The next day is Friday, and Maki spends her free time climbing around on the playground with Yuuji then playing with their grass dolls after school. He sleeps over that night but tells her he won’t need to over the weekend, since Nanami offered to take him in again when needed. 

That’s actually really sweet. He may be in denial about it, but Maki knows Nanami’s become just as attached as Yuuji has. 

Saturday is Valentine’s Day. Maki had heard some of her classmates giggling behind trees and under the slide about who they were planning to give chocolates to, and Maki hadn’t given a rat’s ass. As far as she’s concerned, it’s just a holiday made up by companies to sell chocolates, and unfortunately it worked.

Worse yet, it’s also a day perfect for festering curses, lonely hearts bleeding despair out through their pores and tainting the atmosphere. Toji and Gojo get called out on a mission to exorcise what Toji describes as a ‘love monster.’ Gojo then proceeds to call himself a love monster, and Maki despairs because she can never unhear that. Toji smacks him upside the head, which Maki would’ve done herself two seconds later.

And with the two of them leaving, Toji reassures her she won’t be left home alone. Yuki arrives at the apartment just past dinnertime and hops onto the couch.

“Hey, kiddo!” she chirps. “You ready for a girl’s night?”

“Ooh, girl’s night?” Toji repeats as he laces up his boots in preparation to go. “What’s on the menu for that?”

“You’re not invited,” Maki returns. Toji laughs and shakes his head.

Yuki perks up. “Oh, before ya go.” She fishes around in her purse and pulls out a little red box tied with a satin bow. “These are for you, handsome. Y’know, obligatory chocolates.” 

Maki blinks. But they’re heart-shaped, though?

Toji’s face flushes a screaming shade of crimson. “Obligatory?” he chokes out. “For--for what?”

“I dunno,” Yuki hums. “Just make something up.”

Oh, and that reminds Maki of something. “Hey, Yuki. Why did you ask my cousin what kind of woman is his type?”

Yuki taps her chin, considering. “It’s just something I do when I first meet someone, I guess. You learn a lot about a person by their response.”

“Did you ask Toji when you met him?”

Yuki chuckles. “I did.” 

“What’d he say?”

“I said, ‘not her,’” Toji answers. He’s covering most of his face with his hand, but Maki doesn’t miss the rosy dust still scattered across his cheeks.

Okay, so that was a freaking lie. Maki turns her attention back to Yuki. “Then, what kind of man is your type?”

Yuki glances at Toji with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes -- and a little of something else. “Not him.”

Another lie, but Toji is oblivious. Toji clears his throat. It sounds like a key jammed in the ignition of a car with a dead battery. “Right, then. I’m out.” He tosses them a shaky wave. “See ya later.”

They both wave goodbye as he shuffles out the door. Maki swivels back to face Yuki on the couch.

“Alright, sweetheart. Any ideas for the evening?” Yuki asks.

Maki hums in contemplation. She really should’ve thought this through a little better, but hey, who can blame her? Between training with Toji and Gojo and playing with her best friend, she’s been a little preoccupied. She recalls, though, how Gojo mentioned that the woman who sometimes watches over his kids just taught his daughter how to do a french braid.

So Maki proposes this idea. Yuki laughs out loud.

“Oh man, I have no clue how to do that.” She whips her phone out of her pocket. “C’mon, let’s watch a tutorial and figure it out together!”

Yeah, that goes about as well as you’d expect. In an hour stray hairties and bobby pins dot the floor around them, discarded and haphazard and scattered atop one another. Strands of Maki’s hair crisscross atop each other like a woven basket and Yuki’s curled up beside her, silky blonde locks an equal mess as she rereads the instructions out loud, to no avail. She laughs, stroking a hand through Maki’s evergreen hair.

It’s comfortable. Almost too comfortable. All of a sudden and all at once, Maki remembers that she used to dream--

--that she used to dream her mother would treat her like this.

Her mother thinks she’s dead. Naoya said she wept at Maki’s farce of a funeral; probably the only one who did. Maki’s been trying not to think about the implications behind that, and it worked until right now. Maki attempts to distract herself, attempts to focus on anything else, so she taps into her training with Toji, hollows out her bones and lets Yuki’s cursed energy in. 

It’s relaxed, playful, but imbued with the strength of a thousand mythical warriors, sharp and piercing like a hailstorm of arrows. It reminds her of sun showers in the middle of summer, unexpected and thrilling, lacing her blood with the urge to get up, with the urge to throw caution to the wind and dance in the rain. It’s beautiful, like she is. Confident, assured. 

Yuki’s looking at her expectantly, and Maki realizes then that she’s been quiet for a long while. She can tell something’s wrong, it’s obvious. Maki wants to want to hide it, but she just doesn’t. Her throat feels like it’ll explode if she doesn’t say something, say it now.

“My--” Slow down, she has to be careful. Yuki still thinks Toji is her real father, and Maki wants her to hold onto that belief for the rest of her life. “The woman who raised me as my mother thinks I’m dead. She cried at my funeral.” Maki frowns. “She was awful to me. She told me she regretted every day that I wasn’t born a boy because then her life wouldn’t have been a living hell. But if she was so terrible--” Maki gulps down the emotion that claws up her throat. “--then why do I feel like I did something wrong?”

Yuki’s expression softens. “Oh, Maki.” She rakes a hand gently through Maki’s hair again. “Feelings aren’t inherently right or wrong -- they're just feelings. It’s how you act on those feelings that defines who you are.”

Maki’s eyes dilate. She looks up at Yuki. “But I don’t know how to act on these feelings. It’s not like I can tell her I’m alive.” Maki drops her gaze to the floor. “I don’t even think I’d want to.”

“And that’s okay,” Yuki replies. “It’s the duty of a mother to teach their daughter how to live in a way that makes them proud. I think perhaps your mother might’ve realized that, at the very end.” Yuki combs absently through Maki’s makeshift braid. “If you want to act on these feelings, I think you should live in a way that makes yourself proud.”

“She used to say she was ashamed of me,” Maki mumbles. “She said the only way I could make her proud was to be proper and obedient.”

“Proper and obedient?” Yuki repeats. “Where’s the fun in that? Sometimes, I think you should disobey Toji just for the hell of it -- get him Coke instead of Pepsi, feed the neighbor’s dog your homework, eat all your dessert but none of your vegetables. You’ve got the heart of a rebel, darlin’. Don’t let anyone try to tame it.”

Poking holes through her blanket with a misshapen pin, “Were you rebellious when you were my age, too?”

“I wanted to be,” Yuki chuckles. “Listen. Back when I was first starting out, I always felt like I had to be perfect. I was under constant pressure to act infallible, to be universally loved, to play the role jujutsu society wanted of me. I ended up putting so much effort into trying to make everyone like me that I ended up not even knowing...if I liked me.”

“Then I saw a quote one day -- on a billboard ad for a burger shop, of all places,” she laughs. “Y’know what it said? It said: ‘Stop trying to be liked by everyone. You don’t even like everyone.’” Yuki shrugs and flips her hair. “I guess I really needed to hear it, because all of a sudden I just stopped caring. I decided, why does it matter if someone dislikes me when I’m being myself? If I’d need to change who I am just to have them accept me, then I wouldn’t have wanted to be their friend in the first place, anyway. So what if you’re not everyones’ cup of tea? If you’re too hot to handle and they still try to water you down, it’s on them if they burn their tongues or scald the roofs of their mouths.”

She smiles at Maki, gentle and warm. “I guess what I’m trying to say is this: Stand up on your own when you can and reach out for help when you need it. Get all dolled up when you feel like it and splash around in the mud when you don’t. Cry your eyes out and laugh two times harder. There’s no need to be anything more or anything less than your authentic self. I think it’s way better to live life as an outcast while being true to yourself, than to crumple your soul just trying to fit in.”

And that’s it. Maki throws her arms around Yuki, cuddles into her side. Yuki squeezes her back, drapes a blanket around her shoulders. They stay for a long time like that, until Yuki carefully flicks on an old action movie without disturbing Maki’s position, and Maki falls asleep to the sound of gunfire.

When school starts on Monday, Maki has a hard time figuring out something to tell Yuuji when he asks why Toji and Gojo go on trips so often. Between Toji, Yuki, Gojo, and Nanami, keeping all of this from Yuuji is getting harder; it almost feels like she’s lying to him, in a way, hiding such an essential part of herself. Earnest as he is, Yuuji is also the least intelligent person Maki has ever met -- but even he is starting to notice the weekly patterns for the days on which she’s busy, and she’s starting to run out of flimsy excuses.

“It would be so exciting if magical powers were real, right?” he once said, on their very first playdate together.

It is exciting, in a way, but it’s also horrifying, deadly. Yuuji doesn’t belong in a hell like that, not when he shines like the sun trying to warm the darkest parts of the world. She can keep this from him, she thinks. She just has to be careful. They all do. Especially with Nanami watching over him, that’s something they can definitely manage.

Isn't it?

-----------------------

Nanami trudges home from work feeling more drained than usual. It’s a bad season for curses; far more so than most. They linger among the citizens with revolting grins and wandering limbs, feeding off the gloomy winter mood like rats in a sewer.

He’s been detached from the jujutsu world for a while now, but whispers still reach his ears about how miserably understaffed sorcerers are during these trying times. It also doesn’t help that Toji and Gojo complain to him every time they’re out of earshot of Yuuji whenever Nanami spends time with the child at Toji’s place -- which is two or three times a week, by now. The two of them are out far more than he knows they’d both like to be, forced to take jobs comically below their ranks just to make up for the lack of hands.

It gets so bad that even Yuki, in all her international flippancy, has to shoulder a few jobs herself. Eventually, there comes a time when all three of their overnight trips overlap -- which then, of course, would leave all of their children alone. 

Nanami knows exactly what this means.

He offers to watch Gojo’s children too, but he tells Nanami it isn’t necessary. Apparently Utahime is still out of commission after that awful fight; the massive scar on her face is the least of it, Gojo describes. But he says she’s been enjoying spending time with his children, so much so that she’s strongly considering an early dream of hers to become a teacher -- she thinks it might give her a sense of purpose, Gojo continues, and there’s that word again. Purpose. Nanami never found any of it in his job to begin with, but being surrounded by people with such unwavering convictions makes the left side of his chest feel like a collapsing star.

And that’s pretty much how it happens. Toji drops the two children off at Nanami’s apartment right after school then he rushes out, Gojo squawking at him from the ground below about how the two of them are already late. Nanami slams the door shut to drown out the sea of profanities as soon as Toji opens his mouth to reply.

Maki and Yuuji stare up at him, bright-eyed and waiting. Nanami heaves a sigh.

There are two of them now…

“Hi Nanamin!” Yuuji says after around three seconds of silence, which might be a new record for him. “Maki and I brought snacks. And sleeping bags! And a new board game Toji-ji found in a dumpster!”

Nanami pinches his brows. He’s just gonna ignore that last thing. “Alright, but what about your backpacks?” he asks. “Don’t you have homework?”

“Gojo said homework is for losers!” Maki replies.

Frowning, “Gojo is an idiot.”

“It’s not due till next week, anyway,” Yuuji reassures. Nanami’s not sure if he believes that, but he knows when not to press. 

“Well, if you have any difficulty with it, you can always ask me for--” He cuts himself off. He’s about to offer to help, isn’t he? Willingly. He truly, honestly, unquestionably did not sign up for this.

“Okay! I will!” Yuuji chirps, completing the sentence in his head. “Nanamin, Maki and I had a great idea! Do you wanna rent a boat together and go on the river today?”

Is he serious? “Sailing on the river? On a day like this?” The temperature is only a few degrees above freezing. “You two must be out of your minds.”

“That would imply we were ever in our minds to begin with,” Maki returns, without missing a beat. Alright, fair enough. But that doesn’t make it any less horrible of an idea.

Nanami tells them this. Both children clasp their hands together and pout up at him, pleading.

He folds his arms. “Puppy eyes are not going to work on me.”

Maki bites her lip to make her eyes water harder. A trick taught by her father, presumably. Nanami will begrudgingly admit that overall, Toji is a surprisingly good father, but there are certain aspects of his parenting that leave something to be desired. 

Yuuji’s eyes, however, seem to be genuine. “Nanamin, please?” he begs. “I’ve never been on a boat before.”

Maki pats her best friend on the head. “It’s okay, Yuuji. I bet Toji will take us another time.”

Devious, this girl is. “Fine. I will take you, but only because I know Toji would not be good about ensuring you wear life jackets.”

Yuuji blinks up at him. “What’s a life jacket?”

Oh dear god. “I’ll teach you when we arrive.”

The three of them make their way to the riverbank -- quite a ways from Nanami’s apartment, but nothing a well-planned trip via public transportation can’t handle. The boat attendant seems surprised at their request; he’s been renting them out for fishing recently. The river is no longer frozen over, but it’s chilly enough for it to be odd to be making a leisurely family trip through its waters.

Christ, family trip. Nanami is so beyond screwed.

Nanami carefully tightens and buckles their life jackets before they shove off. Once the small wooden boat is gliding atop the waves, the childrens’ oars whack the water out of time with one another. Frigid droplets of water splatter against Nanami’s clothing like freckles, the children giggling all the while.

“Yuuji,” Maki begins mischievously, “are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I actually wasn’t thinking at all!” Yuuji replies. 

Unsurprising. “Let’s go swimming,” she suggests.

Nanami’s jaw drops. “What? Absolutely not. You’ll freeze. Don’t you even think about--”

Before he can complete his sentence, Yuuji dives in. Nanami tries to grasp him, but the child is frighteningly fast. Maki follows suit not a second later. They both land with a large splash, drenching Nanami’s sleeves with freezing water.

Yuuji dips down and surfaces with a handful of oozing muck. He flings the half-frozen moss at Maki, who then catches it midair and chucks it back at him. Nanami is caught in the crossfire.

Neither of them seem at all fazed by the cold. There’s something off about the strength of these children -- Maki makes sense, at least, but Yuuji? Where did that power come from? Absently, Nanami wonders just who his parents could be. 

Once the children have tired themselves out and clamber back into the now-muddy boat, Nanami puts in most of the effort to return to shore. He tips the attendant extra for the mess and leads the children back to the bus stop. 

The ride back to his apartment is a long one. Strangers give them looks that range from disapproving to amused, and Nanami is having none of it. This misfortune should be his and his alone.

“You two are both soaking wet,” Nanami says when they plod through his door, tracking grimy footprints on the tile. Nanami finds himself echoing the sentiment he once said to Yuuji. “What am I going to do with you?”

He towels them off as much as he can manage, which isn’t nearly enough. He withdraws the childrens’ pajamas from their bags and carefully hands them the clothing, instructing them to each take a shower before they put them on. 

Maki goes first, trotting into the bathroom and the door clicks shut behind her. Yuuji crawls up next to Nanami on the couch. Shame, Nanami made such a valiant effort to keep it clean.

“Nanamin,” he begins. “Thank you for spending so much time with me lately.”

“Of course,” Nanami responds, using a blanket he needs to wash anyway to mop up some mud on Yuuji’s cheek. “I don’t mind.”

Yuuji looks up at him. “Really?”

How could he? Nanami rests the blanket on the ground. “Yes, really.”

Yuuji squirms against the cushions. Oh, well. They lived a good life. “Guess what?” he chirps. Nanami readies himself to respond, but Yuuji continues first. “I’ve decided I want to be like you when I grow up!”

The world glitches. “What?”

“Yeah!” Yuuji exclaims. “You're really nice, and super smart! You’re patient and careful and you always know what to do! You said you used to want to save people, but I think you still do. I think you already protect people, in your own special way.”

It takes every last ounce of Nanami’s energy just to muster up the strength to speak. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do!” Yuuji insists. “You watch over me a lot so that I’m not lonely. I know you look out for Maki and Toji-ji and Gojo-san, too. You know when someone is hurting without ever having to ask. So that’s why I’m sure of it, Nanamin. I want to be as good of a person as you someday.”

Nanami opens his mouth then closes it. What can he even say? You’re already as good of a person as me, is one response. In fact, I think you’re better.

Yuuji’s heart is the size of a star, burning through the galaxy like a comet. There is joy reflected in the mirrors of his eyes, seeing the whole world as if it were sprinkled with magic. If hope itself were a physical being, then that being would be Yuuji Itadori.

He’s not like Nanami, cynical and weary, far too young to feel so incredibly old. His heart isn’t drowned in dark deep waters, tethered to the bottom of the ocean like an anchor. Nanami will not allow Yuuji to grow up like him. He can’t. He’ll do everything in his power to keep Yuuji’s dreams alive.

Maki emerges from the shower a few moments later, and Yuuji hops off the couch for his turn. In less than a minute Nanami can hear the child splashing around in his bathroom, steam seeping out through the crack beneath the door. Maki slips beside Nanami onto the couch, silent as a ghost. She curls her knees to her chest and glances at him from the corners of her eyes. 

“Nanami,” she begins. “What’s your cursed technique?”

Nanami freezes. It’s not exactly surprising she can tell his former occupation given who her father is, but it still catches him off-guard. “I’m not a sorcerer.”

“You are.” It’s spoken with the same certainty as her father. She says it like it’s a fact -- or rather, a correction, like she somehow knows him better than he knows himself. Like it’ll be part of him forever, no matter how many times he tries to scrub the stains from his soul. 

Using his Ratio technique at parents’ day was a mistake. He can’t let himself get used to that, playing cheap tricks with such a dangerous ability the way someone would use a convenient tool around the house. What’s that word again? Overkill. Like using a sledgehammer to nail a thumbtack into cardboard.

“My technique doesn’t matter,” Nanami finally replies. “I’m never going to use it ever again.”

The weeks tick by. The group goes to a water park for Yuuji’s seventh birthday, which is just--gross. Nanami has no interest in public pools festering with the germs of the general populace. He doesn’t miss how Gojo has Limitless up, too. Nanami is almost proud of that level of critical thinking from him. Toji probably has most diseases already, and he clearly doesn’t care about contracting a few more. 

At least the children seem to have fun. Yuuji convinces him to ride down a waterslide together, as long as he promises it will be only once. It’s disgusting, as expected, but Yuuji’s gleeful laughter makes it just a little easier to ignore.

There are a few low-grade curses Gojo exorcises with a brush of his hand, but it makes Nanami tense, uneasy. No matter what, he has to keep Yuuji from being dragged into that world. The more time the two of them spend together -- which is a staggering amount, by now -- the more sure he becomes of it. 

When spring dawns over the horizon, new beginnings follow. The onslaught of curses ebbs just a bit, but it’s still not enough to be anywhere near satisfactory. Nanami spends more time with Yuuji to make up for it.

“Nanamin,” Yuuji says as he laces up his new boots. “I’m so excited! I’ve never been on a hike before.”

Nanami has found that a heartbreaking number of Yuuji’s sentences start with ‘I’ve never.’ When Nanami asked why he’d missed out on so much, he replied that although his grandfather takes care of him, there is much the elderly man can’t do. Nanami remembers thinking ‘takes care of him’ was a strong statement. He has yet to hear a story where he’s gotten out of bed.

“I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s a good combination of relaxing and adventurous.”

“Adventurous?!” Yuuji exclaims, hopping up and down like a jumping bean over a campfire. “I love adventures! I’m not really great at relaxing though.”

Yes, Nanami is aware of that. “Let’s go.”

It’s a bit longer of a train ride to reach the mountains, but they arrive in just a hair over two hours. Nanami leads him off the bus that reaches the base of the mountain and to the head of the trail, acquiring a map from the table beside the entry fence.

“This trail will lead us through the most scenic part of the hike,” Nanami says, pointing a finger along the winding line. “Less travelers select this route due to its steepness, but I think for you that will be a welcome challenge.”

Not that Nanami actually thinks it’ll be a challenge for either of them. Again with the whole unnatural strength thing. “C’mon, Nanamin! I’ll race you to the top!”

Nanami has to sprint after him to catch up, but eventually the child slows down to admire the scenery after around half an hour of tireless running. They end up in what feels like the middle of nowhere -- the trail is barely visible here, a testament to how few hikers actually do this. Nanami and Yuuji walk side by side, taking in the canopy of fresh green leaves and gentle wildlife.

It is then that Nanami realizes they’re not alone.

A curse is perched on a high branch around ten meters away, its monstrous body half-obscured by the arbor curtain crosshatching the forest off to the side of the trail. The beast can’t seem to decide what it wants to be: behemoth wings, slick and onyx like the plumage of a vulture, gash into the treetops just from rustling its feathers. It has the torso of a bear and the head of a wolf, muzzle frothing with rabid drool that seeps from its fangs onto the soft bark and erodes the outer surface of the wood like acid.

Its lower two limbs are that of an avian raptor, crowned with talons made for gutting innocents and feasting on their ravaged corpses. The forelegs of a mountain lion protrude from its thorax, massive feline paws drenched in crusted-over blood from previous victims staining its pelt. Nine hissing snakes fan out as a set of tails, fighting amongst one another as if battling for dominance. It manifests in the disfigured sense of a chimera, mismatched body parts fused together through pure hatred.

Of all the savage beasts and Frankensteinian abominations Nanami has had the misfortune of facing, this one is undeniably the worst. If there was ever a being that truly embodied the word monster, it is this. 

If he had to guess, this grotesque creature was born from the fear hikers have of death via mauling. Half-instincts and half-training tells Nanami this curse is indisputably a high grade one. Nanami himself was only a semi-grade one when he graduated Jujutsu High, and he hasn’t even touched a curse since then.

No one needs to remind him of the massive gap in strength between a semi-grade one and a grade one. He’s beaten a few, but only a few, and never unarmed. This is his penance for spitefully hiding away his weapon -- casting aside his true nature of practicality in an act of defiance against the world that left him empty and jaded. 

If it were his burden and his burden alone, perhaps he could stomach it. But it isn’t. Not even close.

Yuuji is here.

In special situations like this, it’s possible that a normal human could see curses. If this pertains to Yuuji right now, then he hasn’t noticed it yet. 

But the curse has noticed them. Four wild eyes watch them closely, ominous and hungry. The beast drags a tongue dripping with viscous saliva across its snout, blotting the ground below with the gross liquid. 

A fight is unavoidable. Nanami glances at his phone to see if he can contact help -- no service, because of course not. He will not allow Yuuji to be caught up in this. Silently and cautiously, Nanami slips a hand into Yuuji’s and drags him off to the side of the trail, out of the beast’s sight; for now. There’s a hollowed-out tree a few meters away, and Nanami carefully leads Yuuji over to it, then crouches down in front of him.

“Yuuji,” Nanami begins, placing a comforting hand on Yuuji’s shoulder. “We’re going to play a game, okay? I want you to stay here and don’t come out, under any circumstances.”

“Okay!” Yuuji replies. “Oh! I found another cool game at the store the other day. Will you play it with me when we get home, Nanamin?”

When we get home. He gulps. That’s an if for Nanami by now, at best. 

“Yuuji. I want you to listen to me.” He brushes a hand gently through the child’s unruly hair. “Spending time with you has been very rewarding. You are truly a kind child. You have a gentle and caring heart that could warm--even the coldest of people.” Nanami exhales a shaky sigh. “There is light within you, and you have so much love to give. I believe you have the power to change the world with your compassion.”

Yuuji looks stunned, if a little confused. “Nanamin?” he says in a small voice.

“Yuuji,” Nanami says again. “I am very, very proud of you. You’re going to be alright, no matter what. Do you understand?” 

Yuuji nods rapidly. He freezes, hesitates for a single brief moment, then throws his arms around Nanami.

And Nanami hugs him back, for the first and possibly the last time. He’s held him before, but not like this. He clutches Yuuji tightly to his chest, pulls him in close, as if he’ll die the moment he lets go. And he might, this time. He truly might.

After a short while, Nanami releases the child and pushes to his feet, quietly ushering him inside the safety of the tree. He turns to walk away, reaches the edge of the trail, then looks over his shoulder one final time.

“You’ve got it from here.”

Nanami makes his way back towards the clearing, leaves crunching like crumpled paper beneath his boots. First and foremost, he needs to draw the curse away from Yuuji, far away, out of earshot and certainly out of sight. The air here is colder and thinner than at the base of the mountain, slowing the speed of sound. Nanami rolls up his sleeves, shreds off his tie. He wraps it around his right hand and tightens the knot.

He returns to the curse’s field of vision. It locks onto Nanami with liquid seaglass eyes, churning and dark. The beast growls and it physically rumbles throughout the terrain, the low scraping sound rattling straight through his marrow.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Nanami provokes. “ Come at me, you mangy beast!”

The curse rears its ugly head and leaps off the branch, going in for the kill with the speed of a jetplane. Nanami narrows his eyes and focuses, analyzing where each of its contorted joints click together from the way that it moves, pinpointing where its meaty limbs are reinforced from how the sound waves from its takeoff whoosh around its body. Nanami glances across its colossal wingspan, charting the intricate tessellations of its feathers just from how the quills twitch against the air resistance. 

If nothing else, Nanami can appreciate just how much this creature gives him the opportunity to break. 

The curse reaches for him talons-first. At the last second Nanami blasts off the forest floor, sliding beneath its body as it crash-lands where he’d been standing. Nanami swivels atop the dead leaves and grasps three of its viperlike tails in his fist, just behind their heads to prevent them from turning around to bite him.

A fourth head pitches towards him and sinks its teeth into his hand -- right where he wanted it. The fangs are shallow, unable to pierce through the cloth once he’s reinforced it with his cursed energy. Nanami activates his Ratio technique along the serpents in his grasp and drives his other hand atop their weakest points in a lateral chop, cleaving all four necks in a single strike.

Four down, five to go.

The monster yelps. It writhes against Nanami’s clasp and wriggles itself free, losing another tail in the process. A huge paw takes a wild swing at him gracelessly, the tip of a claw catching his collar and tearing it to scraps. Titanic wings beat so forcefully it knocks Nanami back from the wind swell, blowing his carefully-combed hair violently out of place. 

Nanami readjusts his stance in time to stay on his feet. The curse takes back to the skies, circling overhead as if surveying its prey. 

Nanami activates his technique again to reassess his strategy. The advantage of having so many lethal animals cut and pasted together is that the curse is frighteningly adaptive; the disadvantage, of course, is that none of those creatures were ever meant to fit together.

Nanami has full intention to exploit this.

The curse presses its wings against its dorsal and dives like a falcon, vulpine jaws baring rows of fangs pulled back. Those bulky front limbs weren’t meant for flying, its skeleton too wide to compensate for the lack of aerodynamics. Nanami designates a line across its broad chest and identifies the most vulnerable spot: beside its neck on its left shoulder. 

In a single swift motion, Nanami launches off the ground, meeting the curse midair and using its power against it. He kicks his legs over his head and flips upside-down, steers his heels into its twisted body, and shatters its shoulder blade into bony dust.

The beast howls like a starving coyote. It gnashes its teeth at him in a fit of rage, and Nanami is unable to change direction midair to avoid it. It clamps down on his forearm and buries its teeth into his muscles, and Nanami has to grind his teeth into his jaw to keep from screaming. 

The curse flings him across the landscape and Nanami slams into a boulder, smacking the back of his head against the solid rock. His skull rings from the impact, spotting out his vision, and before he can fully recover the curse is before him again. 

Nanami dodges just in time to avoid its mammoth paws from crushing him against the slate. As the beast absorbs the energy of its charge, Nanami takes the chance to reactivate Ratio against each half of the arm nearest to him. Once he’s determined the point with the lowest defenses, he draws back his elbow and rockets a punch backed by all his strength and a massive surge of cursed energy. 

His fist smashes first through its humerus then next through its ulna, leaving the limb with no continuous structures. The curse roars like a hellhound and the appendage falls limp at its side, dangling uselessly. 

The blow doesn’t render the beast as defenseless as Nanami had hoped. It throws itself off the rock blazingly fast and slams the pad of its still-functional paw against Nanami’s hip, bashing him over. 

The monster has more cursed energy overall than him, he can feel it. Any death-related fears always give birth to powerful curses. But Nanami’s ability was made for fighting stronger opponents. 

He shifts back into a combat-ready position, feet shoulder-width apart and shoulders squared with determination.

The curse spins around to face him, on the hunt once again. Unrestrained bloodlust permeates the air like deep-sea pressure, the ferocity in its two pairs of eyes so keen and sharp it’s a tangible thing. It’s injured now, badly. But there’s more focus to its motions, each movement more calculated and less energy wasted. 

Five times the animal means five times the survival instincts. It gallops towards him carried half through updrafts from its wings, this time going straight for Nanami’s throat.

As far as Nanami is concerned, that’s perfect.

It isn’t as simple to counter as it was before, but Nanami is able to reinforce his body with enough cursed energy to make up for it, landing a critical hit right into its sternum. A right cross backed by the centrifugal force of his body pivoting around the curse’s center of weight drives a hefty blow into its pectorals, colliding with the thinnest part of its muscles in a bruising smack. 

But the curse is ready for him, and Nanami hates to admit he might’ve been lured in. The quartet of surviving snakes hiss towards him and all clasp onto his calf at once, injecting his body with paralytic. The poison begins corroding his veins at an alarming rate; Nanami divides the monster’s ribcage with Ratio and finds the weakest segment, hammers a knee into it and the curse flies back. Nanami unwinds his tie from his hand, wraps it tight around his wounded leg to temporarily halt the flow of toxin.

The curse ascends to the clouds once again, whimpering from its injuries, thrashing about to shake off the pain.

As long as those wings are still functional, the curse has the advantage, able to take cover in the canopy and plunge from great heights to gather deadly momentum. 

This leaves Nanami with only one option.

The curse begins another descent, shooting from the atmosphere like an arrow. Nanami grids out the landscape with his technique, takes a deep breath, then lunges forwards.

Ratio Technique: Collapse! 

Nanami’s expanded technique imbues the wreckage he creates with cursed energy, pummeling through tree trunks and pulverizing surrounding stones into fragments of jagged rock. If he can bury the curse as it tries to grasp him, perhaps he can end this once and for all. 

This would be easier if he still had his old Binding Vow in effect, allowing him to expend cursed energy beyond what he possessed once the school bell rang. But what he has now will have to suffice. 

His bait is a success. A towering redwood topples atop one of its hind legs, trapping it. Nanami tightens the fabric of his tie before running towards it, preparing to end its life with a final punch.

But then, in an act of pure desperation Nanami never predicted, it gnaws off its own limb to free itself, emerald curse blood spraying its fur as it yowls in self-inflicted agony. Before Nanami can react, it surges towards him and slashes across his chest with the three talons on its remaining foot, scraping so deep they grind against his ribcage. 

Nanami falls back. The beast pins him under its paw, pressing against the mangled ribbons of gushing flesh. It unhinges its jaws, roaring in his face so loud that the world falls silent.

Ah.  

It’s a fitting death for him, being eaten. It’s the demise from which he couldn’t save Haibara, after all. Now severely weakened, the curse will be satiated by Nanami’s flesh, allowing Yuuji the chance to escape. For that reason he can accept this fate, accept that he will die here today. 

No sorcerer should die with any regrets. He’s known it all along. Even believed it, until right now. He supposes this is just how it goes, that you only realize what you’ve been missing all your life at the very end.

‘It might surprise you,’ Gojo had said. ‘Kids give life purpose.’

Damn him for being right.

He only wishes he had more time. Perhaps then he could’ve spent a little more of his life not feeling hollow, not feeling like an empty shell instead of a human being. But it’s alright. Just the short time he’s spent with Yuuji will have to be enough. He can only hope that someday, Yuuji will--

Before he can finish his thought, a blinding bullet streaks across the landscape in the hidden space between two fractions of a second. Something crashes into the curse with the force of a firing cannon, careening it off Nanami’s chest and across the clearing. When Nanami looks up to see what it was, his heart completely and utterly stops.

“Yuuji!”

“Nanamin!” Yuuji cries, rushing over to him.

Nanami sways to his feet, his chest drenching the ground at his feet with waterfalls of blood. “Yuuji, what are you doing?!” he bellows. “Run!”

“No!” Yuuji shouts. Nanami opens his mouth to respond but the curse is back before the two of them know it, making another pass for Nanami with its mouth hanging open.

But Yuuji beats the curse to it. He grabs Nanami and shoves the two of them aside, sending the curse straight into a protruding boulder behind them. Nanami yanks Yuuji to his feet, panting from the effort it takes just to stay conscious.

“Yuuji, run!” he demands. “Leave me!”

“No!” Yuuji sobs. “I can’t! My body won’t let me!” His face is soaked in tears, streaming from his eyes in coursing rivers. “I won’t let you die too!”

Nanami’s breath hitches. ‘ Too?’

Yet the beast has no intention of allowing either of them to survive. The curse flares its wings to life in order to make another killer dive at them, rising several meters into the air.

But Yuuji doesn’t let it go any further.

He sprints after the creature, jets his heels into the trunk of the closest fallen tree. He leaps after it until he’s barely more than a speck in the sky, gunning for the monster, the predator turned prey. Yuuji shreds off part of its wing and stabs it with its own razor-sharp feathers with zero hesitation, and for a single petrifying moment all Nanami can think is: 

...How?

Then Yuuji is plummeting down, falling from the sky as the curse bucks him off. Nanami’s just barely quick enough to catch him before he impacts the ground. The beast whams into a nearby tree and shrieks, spiralling into a tailspin. 

Permanently grounded, the curse lumbers towards them, snarling with primal fury. Red drips from Nanami’s lashes, blurring his sight. His ankles buckle, barely able to keep him standing. Beside him, Yuuji strikes a fighting stance, ready to attack again.

Or rather, ready to defend.

“Nanamin!” he declares. “I swear I’m going to protect you!”

Nanami screws his eyes shut, squeezes his fists until his nails break his skin, pumping his blood with adrenaline. A heavy sob wracks his body. 

“That’s my line!”

His old Binding Vow is long broken, but in this moment, he knows it is time for a new one. This one will not be tied by something so petty as work, so meaningless as overtime, so arbitrary as numbers written on the circumference of a clock. His new promise will be more righteous than the heavens, thicker than blood, eternal as the fabric of the universe. It will be a pledge he can invoke when he cannot let any danger past him, no matter what.

That kind of strength, absolute and indestructible, can only be obtained when one has something to protect.

Nanami opens his eyes, removing every limit ever placed on his body. He lets his cursed energy pour out every cell, dousing himself with raw and undistilled power, digging deep into the stuff of his soul. 

He launches towards the monster one final time. He plunges into a misty world of shadow and light, black flashes as he sinks his fingers into its body, then he rips out the curse’s spine through its throat with his bare hands.

The beast screams. Putrid curse blood spews from the mortal wound and soaks Nanami’s shoulder with disgusting green. Nanami grinds downward, shoves his hands back into its body. He rips the gash open further, reaches into the gaping cavity in its chest, yanks out its still-beating heart, then crushes it beneath the heel of his boots.

And that does it. The curse staggers back but never hits the ground, its broken body dissolving into nothing as the exorcism completes.

As soon as it’s over, Nanami collapses. He’s barely able to push back into a sitting position before Yuuji darts over to him and flings himself into Nanami’s arms, burying his head into Nanami’s neck as he openly cries.

“Nanamin,” he weeps, clutching his tiny hands into Nanami’s shirt. “Nanamin, please don’t die. Please don’t leave me.”

“I-I’ll be alright,” Nanami rasps, even though he really isn’t sure about that. Blood seeps from the gashes on his chest, soaking Yuuji’s hoodie from where the child is pressed against him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuuji sniffles. “Do you promise?”

Nanami nods. “I promise.”

Dammit, he swore he’d never do this again. Because this, right here, is the hardest part: 

Having something to protect, means you have something to lose.

“Yuuji,” Nanami murmurs, drawing him back so he can meet Yuuji’s eyes. “I’m never going to let anything bad happen to you ever again.”

He retrieves his phone from his bloodstained pocket -- finally, one single bar of service. He texts Gojo for the first time in his life with their location, watches the message send, his consciousness falters, then a black lion eats the sun. 

Chapter Text

The scene that greets Maki when she arrives back at the apartment after a short trip to the grocery store is not a pretty sight. First of all, Yuuji is sobbing, like Maki has never seen him sob before. Toji is standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, looking some foreign mix of confused and terrified; Gojo is slumped against the wall nearby with his head in his hands. 

But most prominently, Nanami is sprawled limp across their couch like a broken doll, grievously injured and very much unconscious. Yuki is slouched over his body as she frantically applies Reverse Cursed Technique, one hand on his chest and the other holding a formerly-white dishrag so bloody it could’ve passed for originally red.

It’s hard to piece things together from here. She, Toji, and Yuki had been lazing around the house when Toji suggested popsicles, which they did not currently possess. What the hell did Maki miss?

Maki’s never been much of a hugger -- she still isn’t, really -- but she doesn’t hesitate for a fraction of a second to tug her best friend into her arms as he cries, the two of them looking on with bated breath as Yuki desperately works her healing magic. 

“Why didn’t you take him to--” Toji pauses as he glances at Gojo, clearly trying to remember something. “--Shoyo?”

“Shoko,” Gojo corrects, swallowing thickly. “I did try. She wasn’t there.”

Toji’s brows knit with concern -- or rather, more of it. “Then how did you know Yuki was here?”

“I didn’t know,” Gojo mumbles. “It wasn’t a great gamble, but she’s here more often than not, so. It was pretty much my only shot.”

Worry etches deeper into Toji’s expression. “You look exhausted, kid.”

“Of course I’m exhausted,” Gojo huffs. “I long-range teleported two people back-and-forth, twice. I’ve never even done that to anyone other than myself before.” He prods Toji on the shoulder. “Desperation-based powerups, amirite?”

Toji snorts softly, as if the two of them are laughing at an inside joke. “Yeah, I hear ya.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Maki asks hesitantly.

Yuki doesn’t reply. Not a great sign.

The minutes drag on like decades. Maki and Yuuji eventually sink to the floor, unable to remain standing once Yuuji’s knees give out. Gojo bites all his cuticles into a mangled mess. Toji drinks three full bottles of wine.

Finally, after an indeterminate length of time that makes eternity sound like a second, Nanami’s eyelids drag open.

“I’m alive,” he says unceremoniously.

“Despite your best efforts,” Yuki chuckles, shoulders sagging with relief. 

Yuuji immediately wriggles out of Maki’s grasp. “Nanamin!” 

He bolts over to Nanami, stopping just short of leaping into his arms thanks to last-second critical thinking; a first, for him. Nanami shoves to a sitting position and sighs, then slowly bends down to pick up Yuuji himself.

Urging him to reconsider, Yuki outstretches an arm. “Nanami, you really shouldn't--”

In response, Nanami shoots her a look that says he’d still hold Yuuji right now even if he lost a limb to do it. Yuki doesn’t bother arguing further.

Nanami tenderly wipes away the tears staining Yuuji’s face once he’s propped in his arms. “I promised you I’d be alright, didn’t I?”

Yuuji nods slowly. There’s blood everywhere, fixing strands of Nanami’s hair together in sharp red spears and crusting on the front of Yuuji’s grimy hoodie, smeared across the cushions of the couch like a crime scene. The air smells of dirt and iron, tastes like the muck pressed in the bottom of Yuuji’s shoes. Nanami holds Yuuji for a while like that, waiting for him to calm down. The rest of the inhabitants allow themselves to release the breath they’d all been holding.

Maki catches Nanami running a finger over the new scars on his body. They’re healed now, but three massive jagged diagonal gashes still mar his bare chest. His face is a blank slate, as if he either doesn’t care or doesn’t have enough energy left to react. 

“You two should probably wash up,” Yuki suggests. “I’ve healed the worst of your injuries and cleansed the poison, but we still don’t want anything getting infected.”

Nanami nods and glances down at Yuuji. “I’ll be right back, okay? You should go take a shower, too.” He gently lifts Yuuji off his lap and leads him to Maki. 

“Just borrow some of my shit,” Toji offers. Looks like he’s finally given up on not cursing in front of Yuuji. Eh, it’s about time. Maki’s honestly impressed he lasted this long. “Yuuji, I think Maki should have one or two of my old t-shirts I accidentally shrunk in the dryer.”

Sniffling, “Okay.” Maki ushers Yuuji into her bathroom and Toji points Nanami into his.

Yuuji’s out of the shower far quicker than Nanami is. His face falls a little as he scans the room, finding a distinct lack of Nanami in it. The expression on his face is some contradictory mix of bone-tired and jumpy, red rimming the purple bags beneath his eyes but his fingers trembling like a flame blown by an icy wind. He fixates on the seam between Toji’s door and the hardwood, steam seeping out from the crevice in translucent tendrils.

When Nanami finally emerges, he scoops Yuuji up then sits on the side of the couch not stained with his own blood. Toji’s clothing fits him like a pillowcase over a scarecrow, loose and baggy over his slender frame. His damp hair dusts his lashes and he rakes a hand through it, giving up halfway when it refuses to fall into place.

Once they've all calmed down, Yuuji finally asks the dreaded question. “Nanamin, what was that?”

Everyone exchanges glances. If this were a school day it would be a nose-goes moment, Maki thinks, for the unlucky victim whose job it’ll be to explain everything.

In the end, it’s Nanami. It goes unspoken that if Yuuji’s going to spend his life among sorcerers, they might as well not hold anything back. 

That said, to say that teaching Yuuji about the world of jujutsu is an uphill battle would be the understatement of the millennium.

Yuuji brightens during a pause in Nanami’s explanation. “You’re a sorcerer! Can you do magic tricks?”

“No.”

Yuuji frowns. “Oh.”

“I can!” Gojo chirps. He swipes a glass off a nearby coaster and teleports it into oblivion.

Yuuji’s eyes practically sparkle at that. “Wow! That was amazing!”

Yuki jabs Gojo with her elbow. “Where’d ya teleport that to?

Gojo shrugs. “Hell if I know. The ocean, probably?”

“That’s littering,” Maki chimes in.

Afterwards, Nanami lets out a long sigh then continues his chronicle of jujutsu. Yuuji picks up on the general concept of curses and their formation surprisingly quickly but trips over the power scaling.

“So...grade one is the weakest.”

“What? No.”

“But it’s the lowest number!”

“Well, think of it this way. In a competition, number one is the one who wins. So grade one is actually the strongest.”

“Actually, special grade is the strongest,” Gojo corrects.

Yuuji looks back at Nanami. “So shouldn’t grade one actually be grade two, and special grade actually be grade one?”

Nanami shakes his head. “That--that wouldn’t make any sense.”

“Yes it would.”

Maki has to admit he might have a point there. 

“What grade are you guys?” Yuuji continues.

“Gojo and I are special grades,” Yuki responds. “Toji is too, but that’s...not official. Maki doesn’t have a ranking yet. Nanami’s a semi-grade one.”

“Semi -grade one?” Yuuji repeats, and oh lord, now they have to explain half-scalings to him.

And so they do -- along with cursed techniques, Binding Vows, cursed energy, and Heavenly Restrictions. Yuuji doesn’t seem judgmental in the slightest that Maki and Toji are different from the rest of the sorcerers in the room; rather, the only negative emotion he does express is that he wishes Maki had told him sooner, so he could be there to support her and cheer her on.

Maki actually gets a little choked up at that. She really is lucky to have him as a friend.

Once Nanami’s crash-course is finally complete, Gojo perks up. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we train him to fight curses with weapons like Maki does?”

Nanami’s grip on Yuuji tightens defensively, as if he’s trying to prevent him from falling into an active volcano. “Absolutely not. I won’t allow it.”

Gojo flaps a hand. “Pfft. What are you, his dad?”

Nanami could turn an ocean into a desert with that glare. Oh well, at least he’s pretty much admitting it now.

“Why not, Nanamin?” Yuuji asks.

“Because I vowed I would never let anything bad happen to you,” Nanami tells him as Yuuji squirms in his arms. “Curses are cruel and ruthless beings. You should never have to interact with one ever again.”

And Maki can’t say she doesn’t understand. As fun as it could be to have her best friend fight alongside her, the world of curses is just that: a curse. It’s a burden that runs through sorcerers’ veins like lead, corroding their bodies like radioactive plutonium. Maki thinks sometimes that sorcerers need to have frozen hearts, to climb over the bodies of fallen comrades and victims they couldn’t save, where facing death on a daily basis comes with the job description.

Because Yuuji still lives in a world of fairytales where heroes save the day and the villains always lose in the end. Despite the gravity of what he’s just witnessed, Yuuji shouldn’t be dragged into the world of jujutsu unless absolutely necessary. 

Yuuji seems disappointed, but doesn’t press further. Maki’s not sure he’d want to argue with Nanami now, or perhaps ever.

“Yuki, can you gimme a ride home?” Gojo eventually says, after the tension has broken. “I’m not teleporting again. I’m gonna pass out.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “I’m tired. I miss my kids.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Yuki rubs him on the back comfortingly. “You got it. You ever been on a motorcycle before?”

Gojo shakes his head. “I can’t drive.”

Toji quirks an eyebrow. “A motorcycle or a car?”

“Yes.” Gojo frowns when Toji laughs at him. “Can you drive, old man?”

Toji immediately stops laughing. “I’m not answering that.”

Yuki and Gojo bid them farewell then head out the door. Toji takes one look at the disgusting couch cushions, flips them over, then flops onto the clean side, ignoring how the blood smears on the inside of the couch. 

“You two should just crash here,” he says to Yuuji and Nanami as Maki curls up beside him. “Seriously, stay for a few days. Lemme take care of ya.”

“I have work,” Nanami says hoarsely.

Is he for real right now? “Nanami, that’s crazy,” Maki returns, at the same time Toji says, “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Yuuji looks up at Nanami with wide eyes. “Nanamin, what’s a ‘fuck’?”

Nanami drops his head into his hands.

Despite his arguments, Nanami does end up staying with them for the next few days and takes the first half of the week off. Yuuji begs to skip class so the two of them can spend time together, and Nanami is the sole voice of reason against that. What can Maki say? In her opinion, Yuuji deserves a break too. Being suddenly thrust into a world filled with mortal horrors beyond human comprehension can really take a lot out of a person. And if Maki was planning on using that as an excuse to cut classes too, that’s neither here nor there.

When the weekend finally arrives, Gojo shows up at their apartment unannounced on Sunday morning. And by shows up, Maki means slams through the fifth deadbolt Toji put on their door. There are more holes on it by now than a slice of Swiss cheese. “Hey, guys! Whatcha up to today?”

“We were relaxing,” Toji says flatly. Maki steals his last piece of toast while his back is turned. “What’re ya doin’ here?”

“I was just thinking. Since last weekend was so stressful, we should get the gang together and go for a day trip!”

Toji levels him an unimpressed look. “You’re just bored, aren’t ya?”

“The woman who watches my kids stole them for the day!” Gojo whines. Maki cracks up. Oh man, called out. “She’s taking them shopping, but she banned me from coming because my sense of style is too epic for her.”

“Seems like they dodged a bullet,” Nanami says, not looking up from his cup of coffee.

“Nanamin! How dare you!”

“I’m not wrong,” he replies. Maki nods at the memory of that fashion tragedy he wore to the amusement park. 

“I guess I wouldn’t mind going shopping,” Toji eventually concedes. “I do kinda need new clothes, seeing as someone keeps pushing me into the line of blood splatter on all of our missions.”

Gojo blinks at him innocently. “Who?”

It feels weird that they don’t have to curb discussions about that in front of Yuuji anymore. It doesn’t seem to faze him, and Maki can’t decide if that’s concerning or relieving.

“Anyways, they’re in Harajuku, so that one’s out,” Gojo continues. He scratches the back of his neck in contemplation. “Oh! But I’ve read equally good things about a place nearby. Why don’t we check out Shibuya?”

“I’ve heard about Shibuya before!” Yuuji says. “It’s supposed to be super big and pretty. And the people there are really fashionable!”

“You’ll be out of place,” Toji says to Gojo, who ignores him. 

“I wouldn’t be against it,” Nanami says with a shrug. “I should also purchase new clothing for work.”

Gojo snorts. “What, need multiple backups of the exact same plain white shirt?”

“Yes, actually.”

Maki can’t help but chuckle at that. “It sounds fun. Let’s go!”

Toji texts Yuki to meet them there, then the rest of the group heads down to the train station to central Tokyo. Maki and Yuuji excitedly chat amongst themselves on the ride over while Toji and Gojo bicker about--Maki isn’t even sure at this point. Nanami closes his eyes, clearly trying to shut off his hearing. From the way his brows twitch every time Toji curses at his partner, he’s failing.

When the train pulls up to Shibuya Station, Maki and Yuuji bolt out the doors and chase each other through the maze of passengers, rays of sunlight temporarily blinding her vision as she steps off the staircase onto the streets above ground.

Maki’s seen pictures and heard stories, but it doesn’t come close to seeing Shibuya herself. Neon lights greet her from every direction, peeking out from behind storefronts, decorating the sides of buildings, winking down at her from atop towering electronic billboards. Rows of shops line the streets with pastel glamor that match the wards’ inhabitants, as stilettos clack and sneakers creak all around her, mingling with car horns and idle chatter in a chorus of the city. Windows cut the horizon into grid-like squares, daylight gleaming off the glass like molten silver, reflecting the kaleidoscope of colors in a hall of mirrors. Cotton-candy clouds dapple the sky, coating the tallest buildings in their sugary sweetness.

Once she’s done taking it all in, Toji taps her on the shoulder. “Where to first, kid?”

To answer, Maki tugs him into a nearby department store and the rest of the group follows. Yuki arrives a few minutes later, dressed to the nines as if she were born here. 

“Yo, party people!” she greets. “You guys ready to embrace true style?”

There are...mixed reactions to that. Yuuji cheers with enthusiastic agreement, while Nanami and Toji grumble half-heartedly. Gojo starts to say something about already having true style that he doesn’t finish thanks to Toji smacking him upside the head.

“I’m only here to restock on basics,” Nanami tells her, but Yuuji tugs on his sleeve.

“Nanamin, can’t we play fashion together?”

“No.”

Yuuji looks up at him with eyes the size of the moon, glittering like a sea of stars. Nanami’s hard expression falters. “...Fine.”

“Fantastic!” Yuki declares. She whisks into the store like a madwoman on a mission, pausing every now and then to survey the rest of the group as if dressing them like mannequins in her head. Maki and Yuuji play tag around the kids’ section while other shoppers stare at them with gaping jaws, as Yuuji leaps over an entire rack of coats to catch Maki where she’d climbed up to a shelf near the ceiling.

Once Yuki’s arms are full of clothes piled so high they obscure her face, the group meets up by the dressing rooms. “Consider yourselves expertly styled. Try ‘em on!” 

Gojo holds up an outfit with clashing patterns that gives Maki a headache just to look at. “I already have something, though!”

Toji frowns at him. “God, anyone ever tell ya you have shit taste in everything?”

“Yeah, I guess I do. Partners, especially.”

Yuki yanks the outfit out of Gojo’s grasp and puts it on the rack near the dressing room. Maki lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Hey! Gimme that back!”

“Hell no!” Yuki rejects. “You’re tall and pretty like a doll. Lemme dress you up.”

Flattery seems to work on him, fortunately. Once Yuki hands them their outfits and inspects the clothes she selected for herself, her lips twist into a frown. “Oh, we’re one dressing room short. I can wait for you guys!”

“Can’t you and Toji share a dressing room?” Gojo says with a sly smirk. “Weren’t you gonna study his body or something?” 

Yuki’s face burns. Toji sputters. “Well, if it’s for research purposes, I guess I’ll let ya touch my--”

”There are children present,” Nanami reminds them. Maki doesn’t really get what he means by that, but whatever.

So Yuki ends up waiting outside, whistling awkwardly. Maki throws on the outfit Yuki selected -- it’s comfortable and practical, perfect for training. She peeks out to see what the rest of the group received.

The shirt Yuki selected seems to be a little low-cut for Nanami’s taste, from the way he tugs at the neckline like he has a vendetta against it. The top scar on his chest peeks out from between the sheer fabric.

“Ugh, your scars are so cool, Nanamin! Mine’s so lame,” Gojo complains.

“I wasn’t aware that you had one. Where is it?” Nanami narrows his eyes, like the outlandishness of the statement hits him delayed. “What the hell is it from?”

“I’ll, uh...I’ll tell you later,” Gojo replies, but it doesn’t sound all that sincere. “Seriously, Nanamin. It’s a good look! Y’know, real sexy.”

“I’m not interested, Gojo.”

Gojo’s cheeks bloom red. “Oi! I’m not hitting on you!”

“Yeah, he’s outta your league,” Toji snorts. Yuki nods in agreement. Maki does too, and even though he probably doesn’t really get what’s going on, so does Yuuji.

“You guys all suck!”

The group continues to rush around the store and put on a fashion show together, strutting around the aisle like it’s a catwalk. Once they’ve all tired themselves out, Gojo’s phone beeps.

“Ah! The woman who watches my kids says that she’s done now. Guess that’s my cue.”

“I gotta get going, too,” Yuki says. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow I still haven’t packed for.”

Gojo brightens. “Gimme another ride on your motorcycle!”

“Gojo, you threw up last time.”

“Yeah, but it was fun.”

Yuki sighs and reluctantly agrees, then the two of them leave the store. Toji turns to Maki. “Wanna go to another store?”

Does she? Maki shrugs. “Alright.”

As they return to the streets of Shibuya, Nanami points at a shop across the street. “Oh, this is the brand I normally wear. Toji, would you like to accompany me?”

“Huh? The hell for? I don’t need formal shit like that.”

Nanami quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Not even for dates with--”

Toji bristles. “Fucking--shut it! Fine, I’ll come!”

Nanami withdraws a few bills from his wallet and hands them to Yuuji. “I believe I saw an ice cream shop one street over. Would you like us to meet you there in a bit?”

“Yeah!” Yuuji agrees as he excitedly grabs the money. “Thanks, Nanamin!”

The adults wave them a temporary goodbye then make their way towards Shibuya Crossing. Yuuji hops around towards Maki. “C’mon!” He points towards an alleyway a few stores over. “Let’s take a shortcut through there.”

Maki nods. “Okay!” 

The two of them shuffle towards the alley, slipping into the slim dark shadow cast by the asymmetric structures enclosing the path. They’re about halfway through its length when something makes Maki’s heart rattle with static electricity through the rungs of her ribcage, smacking into her senses like a punch to the chest.

“Welcome, little boy and little girl! Do you want to play with me?” a cheerful voice says from somewhere ahead of them. “You should be careful about taking shortcuts through back alleyways. You never know who might be lurking within them.”

Maki screeches to a halt in her tracks and grabs a fast hold on Yuuji’s wrist. She’s heard people in Shibuya have unique style, but there’s something... off about this man. Sky blue hair tumbles over his shoulders, tied loosely at the ends with plush black hairbands. There are two lines of patchwork sewn onto his face that don’t seem to be makeup; and upon closer inspection, there’s one encircling his neck like a choker of barbed wire. A slice of light peeking out from the rooftops severs his torso in half, casting shadows upon his arm between the cutouts on one of his sleeves. 

He kicks his feet back and forth nonchalantly atop the dumpster he’s perched upon, smiling down at her with a grin that’s horribly empty.

“Thanks for the advice, mister!” Yuuji chirps back.

“Oh, no need to thank me,” he hums, twirling his hair absently around a finger. “If anything, it’s you I should be thanking. It’s always a delight when such interesting souls wander my way.”

“Interesting...souls?” Yuuji repeats.

“Of course!” he sings. “You wouldn’t believe how boring the toys I’ve been playing with have been lately.”

Maki’s gaze flickers to the bin upon which he’s reclining. There’s an odd lump of flesh hanging out of it that looks like it could be an arm -- if that arm had been locked in a coffin and left to putrefy and decay, only to be dug up by grave robbers with the intent to cannibalize. Maki’s eye twitches. She thinks she just saw it move.

“I don’t think there are any toy stores nearby,” she says, a little too boldly. “Maybe you should go somewhere else.”

“Hm...not quite yet,” he says, waggling a finger. “Tell me something. Have you ever considered what people are made of?”

“No,” Maki responds, jerking Yuuji’s wrist to stop him from replying.

“Then let me enlighten you,” the man continues. “It’s a human lie that people have hearts. Perhaps in a literal sense it beats in your body, but what really defines a person is their soul.”

Something inside the dumpster groans with agony. The man slams a hand against the rickety tin, silencing it. 

“Everyones’ souls have a unique shape. This composition dictates the form of their body. Souls are where your emotions originate. And what rules a person more than their emotions? Change it, and you can change what someone is entirely.”

Maki doesn’t like the sound of that. She hasn’t liked the sound of anything this man has said at all, actually. “Thanks for the story,” she falters. “But we have to get going now.”

“Oh?” The man leans forwards. “And where are you two kiddies headed?”

“Out,” Maki states, tense and uneasy. 

The man tilts his head at them, and it’s some eerie mix of cold, curious, and calculating. “So soon?” he says with a pout. “But we haven’t even played any games yet!”

“Maybe later,” Maki lies. She can’t explain how or why, but her instincts are shouting at her to get out of here, now. “Our parents are waiting for us.”

“Parents?” the man repeats, then he locks his mismatched eyes dead with Yuuji’s. “What parents?”

Beside her, Yuuji petrifies. “You knew my parents?” he says in a small voice.

Maki’s got a bad, bad feeling about this, so much so that it’s a physical thing. She inhales slowly through her nose, exhales out her mouth. Toji’s training has been preparing her for this, an encounter with a rogue sorcerer -- because that’s the feeling she gets, that this man is a sorcerer. She braces herself and lets his aura in.

Every ounce of effort from that moment on goes into preventing her from getting sick on the spot. It’s twisted and sinister yet nauseatingly sweet, like a cupcake made of body parts and frosted with the tears of a helpless little lamb. It tastes like gulped-down vomit and rotting flesh, festering with mold and carelessly spilled embalming fluid, coursing through her digestive system and filling her with the need to duck behind the nearest dumpster and puke out her guts. It’s cruel and barbaric, boiling and vile, like a witch’s cauldron brewing with tricked children. It makes every horror film she’s ever watched and every nightmare she’s ever had feel like a joke.

There’s no mistaking it. Maki’s grip on Yuuji’s wrist tightens. 

That’s not a sorcerer, she wavers to herself, because she spent almost her whole life with the worst sorcerers in existence, but this man’s energy alone makes the entire Zen’in clan look like the tacky villain on a Saturday morning cartoon. That’s a curse.

And he must be so incredibly powerful that he can make himself seen to Yuuji with his naked eyes.

“Mm-hmm,” the curse confirms, haunted-doll eyes still glued onto Yuuji. “I know your mommy.”

“Know?” Maki repeats. “As in... currently know?”

“Ah! I meant knew!” he corrects. “My apologies. I must’ve misspoken.” He tosses his hair over a shoulder. “Such a lovely soul. Her loss was... truly tragic.”

Maki’s known Yuuji for a long time now, but she’s never seen him look anything like this before. He looks scared, sure, but there’s something darker hidden under the surface, beneath the confusion and the anxiety and the fear. She can’t tell if it’s making her defensive of her best friend or like she should release his hand and fight this man alongside him.

God fucking dammit. She’s never leaving her katana at home ever again. 

“Well, I’ll be on my way!” he chimes with a skip in his step as he hops off the dumpster. “A dear friend is waiting for me, after all.” He drifts towards them as he prepares to exit the alleyway. “Let’s meet again someday in the future. You should prepare yourselves, too. I’ll even give you a head start for a few years. How about that?”

He stops right before them, staring them down with a smug grin like a hawk ready to slaughter a field mouse. He reaches carefully out towards them and Maki’s instincts scream that she absolutely cannot let this curse touch her no matter what, so she yanks herself and Yuuji away from him before his fingertips can brush their shoulders.

“Interesting,” he chuckles, then his face splits into a terrifying manic smile that makes Maki think, for all his talk about souls, that this curse doesn’t even have one. “This is going to be fun.”

He passes by them with a chilly breeze, slipping out the alleyway as his energy winks out and disappears without a trace.

Before Maki and Yuuji have a chance to collect themselves, Toji and Nanami appear at the mouth of the alleyway and rush in towards them.

“Oi! Are you kids okay?!” Toji says frantically. He kneels in front of Maki and clasps his hands around her shoulders. Maki decides not to comment on the way his fingertips dig into her skin, like he’d be reluctant to let her go ever again. “Something was here just now, wasn’t it?”

“We ran into a weird guy,” Yuuji falters as Nanami crouches beside him. “He said he knew my mommy.”

“No,” Maki corrects, because she knows the man wasn’t lying when he said it the first time, she could just tell. “He said he knows Yuuji’s mother.”

Nanami and Toji both tense up. They exchange a single glance, grab hold of their respective kinda-childrens’ hands, then say in perfect unison, “We’re going home.”

When they arrive back at the apartment, Yuki and Gojo are waiting there for them, summoned by a terse text from Toji explaining the situation. Maki doesn’t have to hide the fact that the man was a curse from Yuuji, and despite the circumstances, it’s almost relieving that she doesn’t have to.

“Meet again in a few years?” Gojo wavers. “I don’t like the sound of that. What could he be planning?” He drags his hands down his face, frustrated and weary. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have left.”

“It’s not your fault. There’s no way you coulda predicted that.” Toji rests a hand on Gojo’s shoulder. “You’re only human.”

“I know,” Gojo exhales. “The problem is, that guy wasn’t.”

Yuki scratches her head. “And how does that curse know Yuuji’s mother?” she adds on. “Does Yuuji have some connection with this world that we don’t know about?”

Yuuji looks extremely uncomfortable, distant eyes cemented to the floor as if staring through it rather than at it. He doesn’t reply. 

Solemn, Gojo shakes his head. “We don’t have a choice but to train him now, Nanamin. Whatever is on the distant horizon, we all have to be ready.”

Nanami looks furious, though some of it seems to be directed at himself. “This is exactly what I wanted to protect him from,” he declares. “But if there’s really no choice, then I’ll allow it on one condition. Get him a special grade weapon, Gojo. I don’t care how, just do it.”

“I gotta admit, I’m with Nanami on this one,” Toji adds. Nanami perks up, as if he wasn’t expecting that. “The kid needs to be able to handle himself if we’re not around to make heads roll for him.” 

“Thanks, Toji-ji,” Yuuji says quietly, without looking up.

“Of course, little guy. Everyone here wants to protect ya,” he reassures. Toji turns to face his partner. “I want you to get him a special grade weapon too, kid. Get right on it.”

Gojo pauses to think for a moment. “Hmmm...I do know of one that would be perfect for him…” he begins, then his face twists into a grimace. “But dammit! A group of really annoying people has it! And I gotta see a guy I really don’t wanna see in order to get it! Do you have any idea how inconvenient that’s gonna be for me?!”

Nanami frowns. “I just said I don’t care.”

“Ugh, this isn't what I wanted to do with the rest of my day,” Gojo whines.

“Here. Take this with you.” Nanami walks over to the counter and scrawls something on a scrap of paper. “It should help.”

Gojo unfolds the note. “Oi! This just says ‘I don’t care’ on it!”

“So I don’t have to keep reminding you.”

“I can go for ya,” Toji offers, but Gojo shakes his head.

“Actually, this is pretty much one of two places you absolutely can’t go. Most of the people there think you’re dead, and would really like it to stay that way.” Gojo blinks. “Key word there being most.”

Oh. Maki thinks she gets it now. No wonder Gojo looks so annoyed about this. Wow, she does not envy him in the slightest.

Toji raises an eyebrow. “What’s the second place?”

Irritated, Gojo turns away. “Don’t worry about it.” Then he shoves out the door, accidentally-on-purpose slamming it behind him.

-----------------------

It’s a bad day for this. There’s enough pollen choking the air to make the spring itself feel stifling, causing him to hack out his lungs from flowers, of all things. Training had been a joke, a shitty morning of his subordinates disappointing him, and him disappointing his father. Sweat sticks to his back like half-dried glue, plastering his kimono against his skin in gross, uneven patches. He’s equally torn between taking a shower so scorching it burns off the top layer of his skin or chilling enough to freeze the blood in his veins into ice. All he knows for sure is that he’s ready to lock himself in his room and mope like a spoiled child for the rest of the night, but life, it seems, has other plans. 

The stupid bastard wanders aimlessly throughout the courtyard as if he owns the place, because everyone pretty much treats him like he does. 

“Satoru?” he sneers. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Aww, Nao! Is that any way to greet your guest?”

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right. I’m known for being polite, after all.”

“Pfft.” Satoru waves him off. “Can’t a guy just visit an old friend?”

Ah, a nice gut punch to start this fine Sunday evening. What a treat. “Cut the crap, Satoru. I’m too busy for you.”

“Ooh, what’s on the itinerary? Gotta push kids down on the playground? Or take candy from a baby? Maybe bully some orphans?”

Naoya groans. “Ugh, I can’t believe I did my eyeliner for this.”

“It looks like shit.”

“Asshole, it’s just smudged from training,” Naoya bites back. “At least my hair isn't the color of dandruff.”

“Right, right. But mine doesn’t look like straw dragged through the mud.” Satoru bounces up and down on his toes a few times, staring at Naoya expectantly from behind those dark glasses. “Well? Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

Naoya scoffs. “I would, but we’re fresh out of red carpet to roll out for you. Such a shame.”

Satoru thrusts his hands to his hips. “Honestly , Nao. The least you could do is hold the door open for me.”

“Actually, that really isn’t the least I could do.”

“Ah, that’s right. You’ve always been an expert at doing the least.”

Tch. Naoya bites the inside of his cheek and flips Satoru off for lack of a clever reply.

“Nice one,” Satoru mocks. “I gotta say, you’re not makin’ me feel very welcome here.”

“That’s because you’re not welcome here. So why are you here? ”

Satoru switches his weight. “If you’re super nice to me I’ll tell you. Go pour me some tea or something.”

“Pour you tea?” Naoya says with disgust. “Why would I pour you tea? I’m not a servant. Or a woman.”

Then Satoru makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “Ew, do you ever actually listen to yourself speak? Or is the shit-to-mouth-to-ear filter just a triple-busted pipeline at this point?” He jabs a finger at Naoya. “Y’know, I’ve got a lady friend who could totally smack the misogyny out of you. She’s got something on her face now though, so who knows if you’d give her a chance? Let alone get her to love you.”

Naoya slants an eyebrow. “How kind, but I’m not interested.”

“In ladies?”

“What? No!”

“No you are or no you’re not?”

“Will you shut up already?!” Naoya scrubs his temples with his fingers. “You already know that I am. It just doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “I don’t need my future wife to love me.”

Satoru gives him a crooked smile. “Good, because no one ever will.”

Naoya sighs in exasperation. He sure loves rubbing that in, doesn’t he? “Whatever. I don’t care.”

A few moments of awkward silence string on before Satoru speaks again. “You weren’t always like this though, right? You used to have a crush on my cousin when we were younger.”

Right, he remembers that. Usagi. Always wore those cute little rabbit pins to match her name. That was one hell of a crush; he remembers the two of them wading through fields of springtime flowers with their hands laced together, slipping a ring made of daisies over her finger with a promise that he’d give her a real one someday. “How’s she been doing lately?”

“Oh, you’re gonna get a kick outta this. She’s totally dead.”

Naoya freezes. “What?”

“Yeah! Happened a couple of years ago, actually. She wandered outside the Gojo compound one day and ran into a semi-grade one curse without any weapons on her. Apparently the thing used her like a chew toy for a while before finally putting her out of her misery.” Satoru leans forward with a deceptively empty grin and waves a hand. “But it doesn’t matter to you, right? Why would you care? After all, she was only a woman.”

Naoya just barely gulps down the bile that surges up his windpipe. “R-right,” he finally stutters. Ah, stupid. For a liar, you’d really think he’d be a little better at it. “I suppose it’s not like she would’ve been a worthy wife for me anyway.”

It’s a little sickening that Satoru looks genuinely saddened by that. “You’re exhausting.”

Naoya frowns. Yeah, he knows. “Good to see we still have at least one thing in common.”

Unsurprisingly, Satoru’s brows pinch together. “I mean, you could’ve tried harder to resist those awful ideologies, right?” he continues. “We both used to make fun of the higher-ups when we were kids.” 

“Well not everyone had the luxury to just do whatever they wanted like you did,” he shoots back, even though he knows it was never that simple. It’s always like that, isn’t it? 

Satoru scowls. “Seriously, Nao. Bad circumstances explain bad behavior, but they don’t excuse it.” He shakes his head. “Are you saying you would have wanted for things to be different?”

Okay, playtime’s officially over. “Don’t even fucking start with me on that, Satoru. Why the hell are you here?!”

Satoru readjusts his sunglasses before he answers. “The Zen’in clan has the special grade weapon Playful Cloud,” he explains. “I want it.”

Naoya folds his arms. “Why?” He narrows his eyes. “It’s not for her, is it?”

Satoru doesn’t need to ask who he’s referring to. “No, it’s not.”

Unbelievably, Naoya believes this. Little known fact: when you get to know him well enough, Satoru is actually a real shitty liar. “Why is she even with Toji-sama anyways?”

Considering, Satoru pauses. “Well, he saw himself in her, I guess.”

Naoya pulls a face. “How could he? They’re nothing alike.”

“Oh, come on, Nao. I knew you were stupid, but not that stupid. They have the same Heavenly Restriction, after all.”

Naoya grimaces. “Not exactly the same.”

“So you admit it’s a little bit the same.”

“In the way a housecat is like a lion, then sure.”

“Pfft.” Satoru pulls an irritating smirk. “You’re gonna regret sayin’ that. She’s gonna beat your ass someday, and it’ll be well-deserved, too.”

“Ooh, look at me. I’m terrified,” Naoya deadpans. “Please. There’s no way that’s ever going to happen.”

Satoru shrugs. “Hmm...I think you’re gonna be in for a very painful surprise.”

Idiot. Naoya rolls his eyes. “I seriously doubt it.” He folds his arms defensively. “Well if it’s not for her, then who’s it for?” He perks up. “Is it for Toji-sama?”

There’s a short pause in the whitewater rapids flow of their conversation. “Yeah,” Satoru eventually says. “He wants it for something.”

Something? Naoya squints at him. There’s more to it, he can just tell; but he is telling the truth, even if this isn’t all of it. But it’s for Toji-sama. That’s all Naoya needs. And besides-- “Fuck it. Fine. Wait here.”

Naoya shuffles out to the weapons room in the compound and swipes the staff from its special place high on the top shelf. It’s pathetic how much the clan relies on weapons anyway, for all they mocked Toji for it while he was still around. It’s nauseating seeing them shamelessly parade around their useless spears and swords when they couldn’t hope to scratch him in a thousand lifetimes. 

He knows his father has been saving this one for emergencies, which is just as disgusting as it is hilarious. Naoya honestly can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes it’s gone. He’d be lying if he said that wasn’t half the reason he’s doing this. God, he’s been bored lately.

He returns to the courtyard and slings the tri-section staff over his shoulder. Satoru puts a hand on his hip. “You sure your dad’s not gonna get mad at you for this?”

“So what?” Naoya scoffs. “That old fool is more drunk than distinguished these days.” But even if he does find out, it’s whatever. Naoya might not be able to get away with as much as Satoru does, but if Satoru is a king then Naoya is a prince. “At least your father--”

“Either you cut off that sentence right now, or I’ll do it for you.”

Fine. Fair enough. Naoya doesn’t have many clear memories of his early childhood, but he still remembers that as if it were a day ago rather than over a decade.  He was surprised, back then, when he cried buckets but Satoru didn’t. Instead, those six eyes of his had been totally empty. 

Even though he was only five years old at the time, he’d known something irreversibly changed for Satoru that day. Oh, well. Naoya’s never been good at the whole empathy thing. 

And it sure doesn’t help that Satoru hid Toji’s true fate from him for this long. A hot flash of rage spikes in his stomach at the reminder that Satoru claimed the two of them are working together. “Why is Toji-sama on your side now? Everyone believed that you killed him.” Naoya was never going to forgive him for that. Honestly, he still doesn’t. “Asshole.”

Satoru taps his chin with his finger. “Ah, how does that one saying go again? ‘Kill your heroes’?”

“He was never your hero,” Naoya chokes out, so raw it shreds his own throat. “I thought he was dead. How could you let me think that?”

Satoru holds up his hands in some pointless attempt to placate him. It fails. Miserably. “Okay, in my defense, I also thought that until somewhat recently.”

Naoya tilts his head. “What’s the story there?”

Satoru snorts. “As if I’d tell you.”

Right. Obviously. “He shouldn’t have even lost that fight against you to begin with.”

At his harsh words, Satoru’s smile falters a little. “What, are ya saying you would’ve rather had him kill me instead?”

Naoya gulps. If things between them were still like they were when the two of them were children, it would be a tough answer; in fact, he likely would’ve died himself rather than make that choice. But now? “Yes.”

Satoru’s smile falls away entirely, soon replaced with that split-second gut-wrenching honesty stamped across his features. “Oh.”

All Naoya can do is shake it off. “Let me see him!” he blurts out, cursing himself that it sounds more like asking permission rather than a demand. 

It takes a second, but Satoru pulls himself together again. 

And then he cracks up. Fucking prick. “Hell no. Oh man, he would hate you.”

Naoya waves dismissively. “No he won’t. I’m sure he’ll recognize true strength when he sees it.”

“True strength?!” Satoru barks out a laugh. “News flash, he doesn’t give a fuck about strength. Hmm...if he thinks I’m just a normal guy, I wonder what he’s gonna think about you?”

“The hell are you on about?” Naoya shakes his head. “That can’t be right.”

“Read it and weep, jackass.”

What the fuck? “We’re talking, not reading.” Satoru’s always sucked at retorts like that. “He’ll accept me, I’m sure of it. I’m not going to cry over your bullshit.”

Satoru’s lips curl into a derisive grin. “Did you cry when you heard he was dead?”

Naoya grinds his teeth. Now he’s gone too far. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Careful, now. You’re going to make me feel guilty.”

“I wasn’t aware that was an emotion you could feel.”

Satoru’s stance totally changes at that. His shoulders square; his jaw sets. He shoves his hands in his pockets and straightens his spine, and even from this distance, he seems to tower over him. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

No shit, apparently. From the way that look seems natural on him, Naoya is almost inclined to believe him.

More silence, but it’s deafening now. Naoya’s still struggling to cook up some half-baked comeback before Satoru speaks again.

“Hey,” Satoru begins slowly. “Do you remember that one day right before we stopped hanging out with each other?”

Of course he remembers. He could recite every word they said to each other as if reading from a script. He could probably even point out the exact hex shade of blue the sky had been that day. “Not really. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Satoru sees right through him. Damn those Six-Eyes of his. Maybe they’re both just lousy at lying to each other at this point. “So what was the last straw?”

“The last straw?” Naoya hisses. “There were a lot of last straws, Satoru. You knew what was happening to me back then.”

A long pause. “I did.” He shifts uncomfortably. “You sucked at hiding it.”

Naoya squeezes his fists. “I was never trying to.” 

Satoru flinches. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be really smart or something?” Naoya snaps. Satoru’s always been too curious for his own good. Maybe it’d kill him someday, if Naoya honestly thought anything could. But he won’t say it. He can’t. Speaking it aloud would mean admitting a lot of things to Satoru he hasn’t even accepted yet himself. “You figure it out.”

God, he hates this part. This walking on glass around each other in circles, broken shards digging into their heels and slicing between their toes, leaving messy red footprints on the ground behind them in the most depressing sidewalk artwork of all time.

Naoya glances down at Playful Cloud one last time then throws it at him with enough force to kill a curse, but Satoru catches it like it’s nothing. “There, you’ve got what you want. Now get out.” Naoya’s about to throw a pity party for himself and Satoru’s not invited. “Put in a good word for me with Toji-sama.”

Satoru pauses, for just long enough to get Naoya’s hopes up. “I’m not doing that.”

“Ha!” Naoya can’t help but bitterly laugh. “Of course you’re not.”

Satoru opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but then he decides against it. He swivels around, tosses Naoya a lazy salute, then warps away into the twilight.

-----------------------

The moment Gojo returns to the apartment with Playful Cloud and hands it to Yuuji, the kid excitedly grabs it, takes one single swing with the weapon, and promptly bonks himself on the head with it. Gojo has almost died twice too many times, but from how hard he’s laughing, this might be the closest call yet.

“This is the weapon you were talking about?” Nanami says incredulously. “It looks very difficult to use. How could you think this was a good idea?”

“Duh, because I’m a genius,” Gojo replies. “The strength of that thing depends on the physical strength of the user. See what I’m gettin’ at?”

Nanami blinks at him. Gojo smirks, knowing there’s no way in hell Nanami would admit he's right about something. “I see.”

“Hey, I’ve got a present for you too,” Yuki says as she wanders back through the door. Gojo hadn’t even known she left; how long was he gone for? Annoying how easy it is to lose track of time having such a shitty argument, throwing sugar-coated barbs that leave a bad taste on his tongue and churn his guts like a pit of tar. Hopeless. Suffocating. 

Yuki withdraws the item from her bag. “If you’re gonna see curses, you gotta do it in style.”

And they really are perfect for him. Something muted and refined like Maki’s lenses wouldn’t suit him; Yuki hit the nail on the head. They’re what probably once were science lab glasses, rimless save for a sleek red line at the top, adventurous and playful like their new owner. Yuuji puts them on eagerly and darts over to Maki, the two of them inspecting the glasses with childlike glee.

Then Gojo shuffles over to Toji and glances at him from the corners of his eyes. Dumb idea, because Toji notices immediately. 

“What’s up, kid?” Toji asks. “Ya look like you wanna say something.” 

Gojo clears his throat. “I was just thinking--” He slams his mouth shut. If Naoya were still the same person he was back when they were kids, maybe Gojo would consider giving him the credit. But he didn’t just go off the deep end; he drowned in it. “--that it would take a real weirdo to look up to you.”

Toji snorts. “Wow, thanks. I’m so lucky that you have my back.”

Is he now. Gojo sighs and turns away, pretending he isn't talking as much about himself as he is his former friend.

“You wanna stay with us and play with Yuuji’s new toys for a bit?” Yuki offers.

Gojo gives her a tired grin. “Sorry, but it’s been a long day. I wanna go home and be with my kids.”

“Fair enough,” she chuckles. “Thanks for getting him that weapon, by the way. I know that trip couldn’t have been fun.”

“You got that right,” Gojo croaks. “It totally sucked.”

Soon Gojo bids farewell to the group and trudges out the door. He kept it together in front of them fairly well, but he’s not in a... great mood. It really has been a long fucking day. Despite Toji’s words, he can’t help but feel like he really should’ve seen the kids’ encounter with that curse in Shibuya coming. At least Playful Cloud has a worthy owner who will actually use it now, instead of letting it collect dust in the archives of the most ridiculous clowns in jujutsu history. 

Lord, he hates that he has Naoya to thank for that. He knew telling him it was at least somewhat for Toji would cinch the deal, but Gojo still hadn’t expected him to agree that quickly; it makes Gojo wonder if some dormant shred of his former friend actually still gives a shit about him. Approximately one year after Gojo was born, Naoya was, and their parents promptly decided they were best friends and it stayed that way for twelve damn years until all of a sudden it didn’t.

He’s not as clueless as Naoya thinks he is about it, but he’s also pointedly been trying not to figure it out.

Well, whatever. He can put that in his back pocket to process another time. Or never, like most things. Call him crazy, but something about the idea of sorting through almost two decades of debilitating physical and psychological trauma is distinctly unappealing. He’s just weird like that.

Despite how tired he is, he still digs up the energy to teleport right into the middle of his living room, because he honestly can’t wait to see them a second longer.

“Hey, kiddos!” he calls, more exhaustion showing than he would’ve liked. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay!” Tsumiki replies, padding over to him. She slips a hand into his and he lets himself be dragged to the dinner table. “I made fried rice and saved some for you!”

Fuck, she’s an angel. She normally does a lot of the cooking anyway, but something about the mental image of her rushing around the kitchen all by herself makes his stomach churn particularly badly tonight. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He ruffles her hair affectionately. “C’mon, sit with me.” He pats the chair beside him and his daughter hops on. 

Gojo munches on his meal as Tsumiki excitedly tells him about her day. Apparently she’s been put in charge of looking after the school’s vegetable garden. Her face shimmers like the Northern Lights as she talks about it; Gojo makes a mental note to buy a planter box and seeds to put on the terrace. Megumi emerges from his room, surveying from a safe distance to see if dinner is ready.

“Megumi! Come here and eat!” Gojo outstretches his arms. “I’m cashing in one of my coupons for free hugs.”

Megumi frowns. “Satoru, you made those yourself.”

And it was a great idea. Gojo snorts. “Yeah, exactly!” He makes grabby hands at his son. “Now get over here, ya little pest.”

Megumi scampers away. Probably for the best, because his cheeks were looking particularly squishable. God, Megumi despises that. That really shouldn’t encourage Gojo like it does.

He eventually does come back to join them for the meal, and Gojo at least manages an irritating hair-ruffle. Megumi bristles like a porcupine. That’s totally typical of him, which is probably why it’s also so incredibly comforting.

After Gojo’s cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, the three of them nestle onto the couch and Gojo starts the latest episode of Pokémon -- whatever, he can put up with their inferior taste for one night. He deflates into the cushions, allows himself to relax; Limitless flickers off so Tsumiki can rest her head on his shoulder. 

As the bright images dance across the television, Gojo can feel the two of them grow drowsy beside him. He brushes a hand absently through Tsumiki’s hair to lull her to sleep; her soft breathing slows as she slips into dreamland. There’s no way in hell Megumi would let himself be held like this, so instead he tugs a blanket over his son and wraps him up like a burrito. Megumi grumbles some incoherent protest before succumbing to the comfort of the quilt, and Gojo silently thanks every god he’s never believed in as Megumi leans into his side once his consciousness melts away.

There’s no other feeling in the world like this. Laying in between them is the therapy Gojo will never get in physical form: they’re like human heated blankets or morning mist after a night of rain, uplifting in the way a lone firefly might shine in a pitch-black room or a single candle might bring warmth in a blistering snowstorm.

Gojo was never given the chance to believe in fairytales or happily-ever-afters. The closest he came to the wonders of enchantment came in the form of curse guts splattered across his uniform and the blood of his comrades smeared at his feet. Sorcery isn’t gentle, nor is it kind; but once he took the two of them off the streets and into his life, he slowly discovered that maybe, not all magic is tragedy. Maybe true magic is burning the eggs he tries to cook them in the morning, or tearing apart the house to build them a pillow fort, or cheering embarrassingly loud at every single one of Megumi’s soccer games and Tsumiki’s piano recitals. 

If Gojo had ten seconds left to live, he would spend them exactly like this.

He loves them so much it scares him sometimes. Gojo would devastate armies if their commander made his children cry.

In the morning Gojo shepherds them both to school, stopping two blocks shy of the campus -- because somehow Megumi’s already entered that phase where he’s embarrassed to have his parent drop him off at school. Then again, he’s embarrassed by most things Gojo does these days. Some of which, Gojo will admit, are definitely deliberate. 

It’s a rare free day for him, so Gojo kills time by seeing how many emoticon-only texts he can send Toji before his partner blocks his number. His record so far is eight. If he spaces them out, he’s sure he can break it.

Or not. ‘Message send error’ after only six.

Welp, time to break out one of his other phones.

When the school day ends and his kids arrive back home, they’re both carrying flyers and chatting amongst themselves as they point at the paper. 

“Ooh, whatcha got there?” Gojo asks, draping himself over the side of the couch like a lazy cat. “Show me, show me!”

“It’s nothing,” Megumi grumbles, but Tsumiki hops over and shows him anyway.

“There’s gonna be a bake sale at school tomorrow!” Tsumiki tells him. “We’re raising money for our class trip to the zoo.”

Oh, right. Gojo smirks at the reminder that he signed up to be a chaperone for that. Yeah, it’s gonna be a disaster. He can’t wait. “So you guys need something to bring to the bake sale, huh?”

“I guess,” Megumi replies. He drops his gaze to the floor and pokes his fingers together. “Can you go to the store and buy us cookies or something?”

Alright, Gojo’s heart is officially a puddle of goo. He’d literally buy them an entire franchise of cookie stores if they asked, but this time he has a better idea. “Nah, no way! We’re gonna make them ourselves!”

Megumi looks up at him and quirks an eyebrow. “Uh...that feels like a trainwreck waiting to happen.”

“So?” Gojo shrugs. “Either way, it’ll be fun!”

“Let’s do it!” Tsumiki agrees. This is how it usually goes: Megumi’s outnumbered thanks to Tsumiki’s sunny disposition, and once she agrees he inevitably follows. Megumi sighs loudly, but eventually trudges over to the cabinet to survey their stock of ingredients.

Gojo whips out his phone and opens the search engine, typing in ‘Chocolate chip cookies recipe super easy for beginners.’ They should be able to manage that, right?

He reads out the list of ingredients and his kids pull them out of the cupboard accordingly. They’re missing a few things, so Gojo teleports to the bathroom of the nearest grocery store and casually saunters out of his clever hiding place. He gathers up the baking soda and chocolate chips and -- something catches his eye. Oh man, he has to buy those. He purchases the items and heads back home.

He unpacks the bags onto the counter and pulls out the fun surprises with unrestrained glee. “Guys, look what I found!” He excitedly waves the ridiculous aprons in their faces. “I got three so we can all match!”

“They’re not even the same,” Megumi notes. Well, that’s fair. He got Tsumiki a cute one with little happy suns on it, because obviously. Megumi’s has dogs in its pattern, to match his technique that manifested somewhat recently. Gojo almost never tidies up around the house like he should, but he’d conveniently been carrying glass he promptly shattered once that happened. Now if Megumi could stop letting the furry bastards climb all over the furniture (even the kitchen table, when Gojo’s trying to eat!) that’d be just great.

He bought a pink frilly apron for himself. Utahime is so totally wrong about him having no sense of style.

Tsumiki eagerly ties hers on and thanks him for it with a hug. Gojo turns back towards his son and shoves the apron towards him again. “Put it on, Megumi!”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon! We all gotta match! Be a good sport.”

“I’m not a good sport.”

Yeah, Gojo knows. Megumi’s soccer coach has made that very clear. “Pretty please? Stop being a prickly little urchin.” Megumi scowls at that. Okay, new strategy. “I’ll take you to the dog park every day next week. You can let yours out and pet lots of puppies. Sound good?”

“This is bribery,” Megumi replies as he takes the apron anyway.

“Well, bribery is the best approach sometimes!” Gojo tells him. He’s so great at this fatherly advice thing. “Write that down in your tome of my notes of wisdom.”

Megumi rolls his eyes as he puts on the apron. Whatever, Gojo considers this a success. The three of them open up the ingredients and set the baking supplies on the counter. Tsumiki’s tall enough to reach it, but Megumi has to stand on his tiptoes to get a good look. Cute. 

“We have to mix the dry ingredients first,” Gojo instructs. Megumi opens up the flour with too much force and it puffs up in his face. Gojo cracks up, and even Tsumiki seems to be holding back a laugh.

Gojo attempts to wipe off it Megumi’s face, but that doesn’t go particularly well. Megumi swipes the rag from his hands and dusts it off himself. Oh well, Gojo tried.

“It says we should sift the dry ingredients together so there are no lumps,” Tsumiki reads aloud. “We don’t have a sifter. What should we do?”

“Ah! I have an idea.” Gojo rummages around in a drawer and withdraws a cheese grater. “Creative thinking, kids. Write this down too.”

Tsumiki looks at the cheese grater with a dubious expression. “Um, okay. I’ll give it a try.”

It’s not... perfectly effective, but it sorta does the job. Gojo is still pleased with his fantastic problem solving skills. Honestly, it just seemed like something Toji would do. He would totally be proud of this.

Christ. Gojo pauses to bang his head against a wall. No, he absolutely does not care if Toji would be proud of him. Fuck, Gojo is so beyond screwed.

The kids pretty much ignore that. They’re used to his antics by now. “Okay, what next?” Megumi asks.

“We have to soften the butter,” Gojo says. “Oh shit, we were supposed to do that beforehand. Wait, I got this.”

Gojo outstretches a hand and a tiny, tiny orb of Red appears above his finger. He holds it out above the glass with the butter and -- yikes, rest in peace to that measuring cup. Alright, take two.

It may or may not take five takes to get it right, but eventually they have a glob of butter that could pass for softened. Eh, close enough. They mix together the rest of the dry ingredients with the butter and vanilla. Tsumiki rereads the recipe. “Three eggs,” she announces.

“You got it.” Gojo cracks the eggs into the bowl and -- wow, that’s a lot of shell. Well, whatever.

Tsumiki inspects it carefully.  “Shouldn’t we take those out?”

“Huh? No way!” Gojo beams. “It’ll add some unexpected crunch to them. Y’know, different textures, and all that. It’ll be like finding a toy at the bottom of a cereal box!”

Megumi frowns. “Uh, I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

“Hush hush, Megumi. Just trust me on this one.” 

He rustles Megumi’s hair with his yolk-covered hands. This annoys him greatly.

Tsumiki stirs the ingredients then pokes at it with a spoon. “Isn’t this dough looking a little too thin?” she points out. “I don’t think it’ll hold its shape when we try to put it on the cookie sheet.”

Gojo glances at the mixture. “Hmm...you might be right. Let’s add more flour.”

“How much flour?” Megumi asks.

Gojo dumps the rest of the bag into the bowl. “That should do it.”

Okay, that takes a little longer to fully mix than it probably should, but it’ll still be fine, right? Once the chocolate chips are added, Megumi looks down the list at the final ingredient. “It says a pinch of salt. How much is a pinch of salt?”

Shrugging, “Hell if I know.” He painstakingly extracts three grains of salt from the shaker and sprinkles them into the bowl. “That seems accurate.”

Once the dough is complete, they follow the pictures in the instructions to form them into tablespoon-sized balls. They’re...a little lumpy, but Gojo’s sure that’s just the chocolate chips. He briefly considers sampling the cookie dough, but he bets it’ll be a more fun surprise to eat them in their final form.

Gojo slides the sheet into the oven and sets the timer. Gojo doesn’t particularly feel like cleaning up quite yet, so he entertains himself by hiding the supplies around the kitchen as Megumi attempts to. Ha, see if he can reach the wooden spoon on the top shelf with those stubby little legs. 

Gojo surveys the kitchen. It really is a warzone. There are no less than ten broken glasses -- and who knew you couldn’t put aluminum in the microwave? Limitless kept the whole kitchen from exploding, but the microwave itself is a lost cause. Once the cookies are done and cooled for a few minutes, the three taste the spoils of their effort.

“These are terrible,” Megumi says, in between his third cookie and his fourth.

“Yup,” Gojo agrees, shoveling more deformed crumbs into his mouth. “They really suck.”

“At least these are good!” Tsumiki chirps, picking the chocolate chips out of the cookies and eating them like a little rabbit. Bless her heart. Gojo pats her on the head with his crumb-coated fingers.

They have to go buy cookies at the store after that, but both Megumi and Tsumiki come with him this time, and that alone makes the whole ordeal worth it.

On their next mission, Gojo tells Toji all about their baking adventure. Toji cackles at him the entire time, but Gojo knows wholeheartedly that he couldn’t have done any better.

“Y’know, your face really lights up when you talk about ‘em, kid. If it were anyone other than you, it might be kinda sweet,” Toji snorts with a playful jab at Gojo’s shoulder. “You really love those little shits, huh?”

“Fuck.” Gojo scrubs his face with his hands. “So much.”

“Oi, stop bein’ endearing. I’ll push ya off a cliff,” Toji laughs. “Well, those things are important to tell ‘em a lot when they’re young. So they don’t grow up all fucked up like us, or whatever.”

Gojo’s not quite sure what possesses him to admit this, but he finds himself replying, “I actually haven’t told them yet.”

Toji pulls a face. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t wanna make them uncomfortable, I guess,” Gojo says with a shrug. “I haven’t had them for all that long.”

Toji’s looking at him like he’s totally crazy, which is probably fair. “You should tell them.”

“Believe me, I’ve thought about it,” Gojo replies. “My daughter might appreciate it. But I think my son would just look at me funny.”

Toji scowls harder. “Who fucking cares?”

What? Gojo can’t help but frown back. “Huh?”

“What does it matter if he looks at you funny?” Toji responds. “Is that not worth letting him know that he’s loved?”

Gojo turns away to avoid looking starstruck. It’s not raining yet, but almost; mist clings to his lashes and fogs up the inside of his sunglasses, blurring the part of the world he can still see into hazy outlines. A humid night breeze tickles his skin, reddens the tip of his nose. Gojo rubs it away and sniffles, shoving his damp hand into one of his pockets.

“Why do you always know exactly what to say?” he chuckles under his breath. It’s almost unfair, in a way, how Toji can say something so incredibly wise like that without even realizing what he’s done. “You--you’re right. I’ll tell them.”

The next morning when Gojo drops his children off at school, he doesn’t stop two blocks shy of the campus. He walks them right up to the school gates and they turn around, looking at him expectantly, as if they know instinctively that something is up. Gojo gulps.

It’s terrifying. His whole life has taught him that caring for something is a weakness, that vulnerability is unacceptable, that loving something is the same as signing its death sentence. He never got the chance to say it to Suguru, and by the time he finally scrounged up the courage to tell him it was already too late. If he ever sees him again, he’s afraid he’ll just blurt it out. I love you. Present tense. Always.

This is all going to blow up in his face someday, he knows. He could lose them at any moment. He’s not going to make the same mistake again. Gojo takes a deep breath.

“Have a good day at school. Love you guys,” he says, as casually as possible, but it still sounds like his voice has been put through a lawnmower. 

Tsumiki’s face lights up like a sunrise, the first dawn of a new year, and she darts back over to him, throwing her arms around his legs in a hug. “Aw, Satoru! I love you too!”

Gojo just barely blinks away the tears that well in his eyes. He pats a hand on her shoulder, kisses her gently on the top of her head. He glances at Megumi from the corner of his eyes.

As expected, Megumi is looking at him funny. But just before he turns around, Gojo swears he can see his son smile at him.

The rainy season starts before long. There’s moisture in the air more often than not, along with the constant scent of petrichor rising up from the sidewalk. Gojo buys his kids new umbrellas in bright, eye-catching patterns, to Tsumiki’s delight and Megumi’s chagrin. They clash horribly with their raincoats, and the two of them stand out like parrots in a desert. 

About two weeks into June, Megumi wakes up with a runny nose. His voice is rough and scratchy, and he sneezes in Gojo’s face when he asks him what he wants for breakfast. Coughs wrack his little body like aftershocks from an earthquake. 

Gojo drops everything to take him to Shoko. She tells him to calm the hell down, it’s just a cold, he’ll get better in a few days if he gets lots of rest. Reverse Cursed Technique, apparently, is no good against viruses. Leave it to jujutsu to fix a severed limb but be conquered by the common cold. It’d be funny that Six-Eyes is more useless than cough drops, if he weren’t so worried about his son.

Gojo takes him home and the two of them spend the day watching Pokémon, Megumi buried beneath a pile of blankets as he swings back and forth between shivers and fevers. When night comes, it’s worse than ever. He tries to eat dinner but gets sick an hour later.

Panicked, Gojo does the only thing he can think of. He punches in the number without giving himself the chance to doubt his decision and waits a few rings before the recipient picks up. 

“Hello?”

“My son is sick,” Gojo says, with no other greeting.

“Uh, okay,” Toji replies. “Did you take him to a doctor?”

“Yeah. She said he has a cold.”

“Just a cold?”

“Uh-huh.”

Toji waits a few seconds before responding. “So...why are you callin’ me?”

The irony of calling Toji to ask how to take care of his own child is not lost on Gojo. Especially since he abandoned said child, having never even bothered to take care of him in the first place. 

Gojo swallows thickly. “Because I don’t know what to do.”

He hears a faint creak as Toji presumably drops into a chair. “Well, what’d the doctor say?”

“That he’ll recover in a few days if he gets lots of rest.”

“Alright,” Toji responds. “Then what’s the problem?”

“He’s miserable,” Gojo mumbles. “I don’t know what to do to help him in the meantime. Do you?”

Gojo hears light tapping as Toji clacks his nails against a counter. “Well, Maki got sick once a few months back,” he begins. “If he’s goin’ back and forth between hot and cold, make sure you have a cold compress for his forehead. Just stick a wet towel in the freezer for a bit, that’ll do the trick. And if he gets chilly, always keep a warm cup of tea nearby. Blankets are helpful, but it’s better if he’s warmed up from the inside.”

Nodding slowly, “Okay,” he says. “I just feel so powerless.”

“Over germs?” Toji chuckles. “I know the rest of the world expects ya to control everything, but it’s the role of your family to understand and accept the fact that you can’t. Bein’ told you’re only human is a different beast than coming to terms with it.” Toji sighs softly. “It’s alright, kid. We’re all just doin’ the best we can.”

Gojo bites his lip to keep it from trembling. “Thanks, Toji.”

“Yeah, anytime.” Toji shifts on the other end of the line. “By the way...what’s your son’s name?”

Gojo puts his phone on mute for a moment. He peers out from behind the door frame, watches as Megumi wipes his nose on his horde of blankets. It’s a foreign thing, still, to be a father. For fuck’s sake, he’s nineteen . It’s a force that tugs on his heart, gentle and constant, but with enough ferocity to overwrite his heaviest griefs such that he’s not even sure who he is anymore. 

But maybe that’s okay. 

‘What’s your son’s name?’

My son.

Gojo unmutes the call.

“...it’s Megumi.”

“Huh.” A few long, long seconds of silence tick by. “That’s a stupid name for a boy.”

“Yeah,” Gojo exhales. “You have no idea.”

It’s almost for the best, right now, that Toji can’t look at him. Can’t see the sin etched into his features, the shame of all the things he should regret but doesn’t. Megumi. Blessings . A gift from the heavens, divinity spun into letters. The one good thing, pure and beautiful, bestowed to Toji in a life where a cruel god had cursed him and cast him aside. A prayer answered. Maybe the only one that ever was. Something swells in Gojo’s chest, and before he can stop himself--

“Toji,” Gojo chokes out, and he can’t keep the tears from falling this time. “I’m so sorry.”

“Huh? What for?” Toji says, calm and gentle. “It’s no big deal. I was already up, anyway.”

“I--” Gojo cuts himself off. “Yeah, okay. Thanks again.”

He hangs up the call, tosses his phone haphazardly behind him and hears the screen crack. Oh, well. He has others. He walks slowly over to the couch, stopping in front of Megumi from where he’s half-asleep in front of the television. Gojo places a hand under his bangs -- still a fever. Gojo rests his forehead against Megumi’s, eyelids fluttering shut.

Don’t take him away from me. 

Either of them.

Please, god.

Please.

He can’t help but wonder if Toji would be better at this than he is. Maybe not before, but things are different now. Gojo is starting to care about Toji and Maki a dangerous amount; but he sees the way Toji looks at her. Maki is his daughter, in the same way Megumi is Gojo’s son. Gojo is fully convinced that being a parent has nothing to do with whether a child is yours by birth or not. It’s not something by blood. It’s something by soul. Gojo lifts Megumi from the cushions, props him up in his arms.

“Put me down,” Megumi says weakly.

“Make me,” Gojo murmurs back.

Megumi squirms half-heartedly for about a second before giving up, instead dropping his head against Gojo’s shoulder. He blows his nose into Gojo’s collarbone, which is just--ugh, fine. Gojo knows when to surrender. 

“Why is your face all wet?” Megumi sniffles. 

“It’s just--” Gojo bites down on his tongue. What can he even say? “I don’t like it when you’re sick.”

“I’ll be fine,” Megumi insists, and Gojo knows that, but it doesn’t make this any easier. He rests Megumi into bed, tucking him in. He follows Toji’s advice, withdrawing an icepack from the freezer and filling a mug with piping hot herbal tea. He rests the items on Megumi’s nightstand along with his sunglasses and pulls a chair from the kitchen beside his bed.

Megumi shifts under the covers. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know,” Gojo replies. “But I want to stay.”

“But if you stay, you might get sick too.”

Gojo shakes his head. “I don’t care.”

“You have jobs to do, though.” Megumi tugs the blanket up to his shoulders. “If you get sick, people could die.”

Carding a hand through Megumi’s messy hair, Gojo sighs. “Let ‘em die.”

Megumi glances away. “That’s irresponsible,” he mumbles, but Gojo doesn’t miss the ghost of a smile that traces across his lips. “Fine. If you’re gonna stay, then stay. I can’t stop you.”

“Damn right ya can’t.” Gojo scrunches himself into the chair at Megumi’s bedside. “Get some rest, kid. I’ll be right here.”

Megumi falls asleep a few minutes later. 

Gojo stays awake the whole night.

Chapter Text

Toji leans languidly against the kitchen counter, knocking back a long sip of lukewarm instant coffee as he heaves a sigh. It’s stupidly early, but this happens sometimes: his body decides not to listen to his brain when he tells it the battle is over, that the curse is exorcised and there’s nothing left to fight. It happens more often than not when it’s Gojo who delivers the final blow instead of him, denying his instincts a sense of closure. He barely slept, thanks to the adrenaline still coursing through his blood. 

Damn this body sometimes. Toji kinda gets why they call it a Heavenly Restriction, because now it’s fucking up his already flimsy chance at a normal sleep schedule.

Maki enters the kitchen a bit past six, padding over to the fridge to grab ingredients for breakfast. Toji will get better at that someday, but that day is not today. He’s had a few near-successes and minor wins, but she must catch the purple rims under his eyes, because she doesn’t even bother asking him to help. Smart girl.

She does, however, shoot him a look when she reads the writing on the mug he’s drinking from. “Toji,” she begins. “Did you buy a World’s Best Dad mug for yourself?”

“Huh? Course not.” Toji takes another long sip. “I stole it.”

“Why?” she asks. “Don’t you make, like, a boatload of money?”

Toji tips his mug at her. “Fuck the system, kid. Write that down.”

Yeah, Maki doesn’t look like she’s gonna write that down. Oh well, her loss.

Later that week, Toji visits the old weapons shop near where he used to live. Gojo had asked him to pick up a few non-cursed tools so he could practice trying to put cursed energy into them; and Toji would’ve rejected being sent on a stupid errand, if it didn’t allow him the chance to reminisce.

He shoves through the heavy wooden door, the broken knife shards hanging above it chiming like silver bells. He glances at the shopkeeper -- the man barely acknowledges him, and the glass case mounted above him is still shattered into jagged shards, from when Toji crashed his fist through it and took home the katana. The black carbon knife he recommended to her when they met hasn’t yet been restocked, a physical reminder of the day he was reunited with his daughter. 

Fuck, it’s almost funny how little he knew he was getting into back then. 

For old time’s sake, Toji visits the old warehouse too, after getting a few shitty weapons for Gojo to fuck up. It doesn’t look like it’s been touched since they left, scuff marks in the floor in the shape of their footprints still cutting clean tracks through the layers of dust. Toji glances in the cracked mirror at his own reflection. It was only after growing close with Maki that he could even bear to look at it.

There was a time when he only knew three things about himself. He still thinks white is an ugly hair color, but he doesn’t hate the person who has it anymore. He’s still not sure if he should be alive, only that he’s glad that he is. And he’s even less sure about being a good person, but all he knows is that for Maki, he’s gonna spend the rest of his life giving it his best shot.

Toji arrives back home before the school day ends, just in time to be waiting for Maki when she slips past the door. He walks up to her wordlessly; she looks up at him and tilts her head.

“Toji?” she says curiously. “What’s up?”

In lieu of responding, Toji scoops her into his arms. She makes a tiny sound of surprise but doesn’t resist. All he can remember is how badly he’d wanted to do this after she left that day when he accidentally made her cry, and for two weeks he was haunted by demons that whispered he’d never see her again. The day she returned was the first time she ever hugged him back. There was nothing he could even compare it to, save maybe the memory of cradling her newborn self in the dim lights of the hospital.

He could lose his memory again and be stripped of everything he’s ever known, but he would still know in his soul that Maki is his daughter.

“I love you,” he says out of the blue. “You’re everything to me. You know that, right?”

Maki looks a bit stunned, but she nods a few seconds later. “I--I know.” She buries her head into his shoulder and mumbles into it, “I love you too.”

Fuck, she’s so precious. He carries her over to the couch and plops her down on it, and the two of them watch the rain fall in comfortable silence. Water drenches the landscape outside in a steady downpour, flooding the pavement with manmade rivers. His daughter watches, mesmerized. Her eyes are glued to the grass on the far edge of the sidewalk, clotting the dirt into globs of mud.

‘I like bad action movies and playing in the mud,’ Maki says in his memories, when he’d followed that smuggler’s advice by asking about her hobbies. He still can’t believe that worked. A smirk tugs at Toji’s lips.

“Hey, Maki,” Toji begins. “Let’s go outside.”

She looks at him quizzically. “Huh? It’s pouring.”

The smirk spreads into a full-blown grin. “I know.”

Toji almost thinks the sky has cleared for a second, from how brightly she smiles at him. They dash outside and hop from the railing, betting on the fact that none of their neighbors will be looking outside today. They land in the mud with a messy splash, and he genuinely has to put in a fair amount of effort to catch up to her when she sprints across the street. She scoops her nails right into the dirt and hurls it at him with enough force to overturn a truck, and it’s enough to make Toji burst into laughter when it impacts his chest. 

They chase each other around until they’re both worn out, covered in mud and other dubious substances from along the riverbank. Eventually they give up and just flop down beside each other in the grass, staring up at the sky as the rain falls on them, and Toji pulls her closer.

They lay there until he’s soaked to the bone, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s impossible to feel cold when his daughter is beside him.

A few days later, Toji and Gojo are sent on a mission to exorcise an unidentified curse that had killed a few sorcerers, and it’s only after they manage to destroy it that the two of them understand why. It was of the impossibly rare type that actually feeds off cursed energy -- so it goes without saying that while Toji is fine, Gojo is an absolute wreck. He takes each step as if wading through drying concrete and his joints creak to prove it. Those ridiculously blue eyes, normally sparkling like icicles in a morning winter sun, are dulled to look more like the puddles on the side of the road. His snowflake hair is soaked with sweat and flat on his head. He’s panting like it melts calories just to keep him awake, and the two of them have to stop every few steps so he can catch his breath, because teleporting is clearly out. It stopped raining about an hour ago, but you’d never be able to tell from the way Gojo is drenched in gloom, an air of misery following him around like a personal stormcloud.

And the worst part? He seems hellbent on making Toji just as miserable as he is.

“Toji,” he whines, for about the ten-thousandth time. “This sucks. I’m tired. Fix it.”

Toji shoots him a look. “Fix what?”

“It!”

Toji groans. He prays to whoever’s up there to please strike the idiot with a bolt of lightning. His prayer goes unanswered. Classic. “I don’t suppose you’d be up for a round of the quiet game?” he asks pointlessly.

Gojo kicks some mud at him. Yeah, that’s a no. “Carry me, Toji. I’m fragile.”

Oh, something new. Toji barks out a laugh. “Are ya serious? No way, kid.”

Gojo plops down into the mud, which is far less endearing than when Maki does it. He stares up at Toji with big dumb puppy eyes and an exaggerated pout.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Toji swivels around on his heels and begins to walk away. The pest will get over his little tantrum soon and follow when he realizes Toji’s not coming back for him. Mud squelches beneath his heels as he marches ahead, a damp nighttime breeze rustling through his fringe. Gojo will return to his side any second now.

Except he doesn’t. A full minute of walking passes before Toji stops in the middle of crossing the street, looking up at the twilight in resignation. There’s an oncoming car approaching in the distance; Toji briefly debates letting himself be hit. This is really who he is now, huh?  

Toji heaves a long sigh of defeat then returns to the spot he ditched his partner. Gojo stares up at him with a giddy and triumphant grin -- that is, until Toji picks him up and throws him over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

“Hey! Put me down!”

“Oi, you just told me to carry you! Pick a lane, asshole!”

Gojo squirms half-heartedly for another moment before going boneless, slumping limply against Toji’s back like a wet cat. A few seconds later, he starts tugging at a shred on the hem of Toji’s shirt to entertain himself.

“Stop bein’ a pain. We’re almost there.” He’s been outside Gojo’s building enough times to know his way around the area. Once they’re inside, Toji punches in the code to the penthouse elevator.

“So, you gonna actually let me meet your kids today?” Toji asks.

“They’re not home right now,” Gojo answers. “I thought we’d be gone longer, so I told Utahime to take them out to dinner and a movie or something.”

Utahime? Alright, ‘woman who watches my kids’ finally has a name. Toji shrugs, forgetting just long enough that Gojo is slung over his shoulder. The kid makes a sound of protest. 

Gojo fishes around in his pocket then hands Toji the key to his place. Toji shoves open the door and saunters in, dropping Gojo into one of the chairs at the kitchen counter. Several lights in the apartment are on; maybe his kids just forgot to shut them off? Maki’s good about it, but Yuuji is a lost cause. Toji’s about to write it off as simple forgetfulness until he tunes his senses into the apartment and immediately learns otherwise.

“Satoru? Is that you?” an approaching voice calls. “Utahime had to drop us off early because--”

Then Gojo’s breath hitches and he shoves to his feet, swaying so hard against the rapid force that he has to smack a hand against the counter to keep from toppling over, and he didn’t even look this terrified right when he registered that Toji was going to kill him in their final fight. He digs his fingers into the solid marble so hard it cracks, and his voice is grating and desperate when he shouts:

“Megumi! Go back to your--”

But it’s too late. Toji hears the sound of soft footsteps rounding the corner then stopping behind him, wary and hesitant. Toji turns around wordlessly, and piercing emerald eyes meet his own.

Something melodic and clarion rings in Toji’s ears like a metronome, so loud the rest of the world instantly falls silent. It’s like hearing familiar windchimes toll in the distance, a clear cut sound through hazy memories -- and he knows that it means something, but he doesn’t know enough to place the feeling, to give it a name. It’s a sort of wistful and bittersweet nostalgia, like missing out on something important but not knowing what, like being young and not understanding how special it is. The dim lights of the apartment melt into the glow of the full moon across the boy’s face, giving his appearance the contradictory brightness of an ever-present shadow. Toji squints, zeroing in on the sharp edge to boy’s expression, eyes tangling in the mess of his spiky hair.

He realizes then that he’s been staring at the kid for a stupidly long time, so he clears his throat to chop up the awkward silence. He’s about to open his mouth to say, ‘Megumi, I think I know you,’ but then the boy says:

“Who the heck are you?”

Huh.

...well, okay. Toji can’t escape the feeling that he’s seen this kid before, but if Megumi’s got no clue who he is then Toji must be mistaken. Wouldn’t exactly be a first, but something tells Toji this is slightly different. But it wouldn’t feel right to voice it, so all Toji can do is shake it off.

“Uh, hey, kid,” he mumbles. “I’m Toji, your dad’s friend.”

Megumi pulls a face as he turns towards Gojo. “Someone wanted to be your friend,” he says incredulously, and oh man, Toji likes him already. “Voluntarily?”

Toji chuckles. Yeah, they’re gonna get along just fine. “Nah, he had to pay me to do it at first. What a loser, amirite?”

“Yup,” Megumi agrees with a nod, at the same time Gojo squeaks in the background, “At first?”

Toji exhales slowly and leans against the counter, glancing back at his partner from the corners of his eyes. Gojo’s face is drained of all color, his skin lifeless and bone-white as if blanched by a desert sun, almost pale enough to match his hair. He’s not breathing. Toji focuses his hearing; Gojo’s heartbeat is pounding like a stampede of gazelles trying to escape being eaten by a lion. Toji frowns. “Huh? What’s with you? Quit actin’ weirder than normal. I’ve seen kids before, jeez.”

Quickly, Gojo meets his eyes, frantic and wavering. “T-Toji?”

“Are you gonna answer my question for real?” Megumi cuts in. “Who are you? How do you know Satoru?” He scrutinizes Toji’s butchered shirt with a judgmental glare. “Why are you all bloody? That’s kinda shady.”

“Uh...we’re work partners,” Toji answers clumsily. “I gotta watch this guy’s back, or somethin’.”

The kid smirks. “Oh, so it’s you who’s been doing that. Basically, you’re his babysitter.”

“Ha! That’s what I said!” Toji jabs Gojo’s shoulder. “See? This kid gets it.”

“Is something going on?” says another voice from a nearby room. “Is there someone here?”

A young girl peeks out from behind the corner; she’s a bit taller than Megumi, and they don’t look very alike. Still, she’s strangely familiar too, in a way, like her smooth brown hair and soft smile remind Toji of someone else as well. 

This is really shaping up to be a bizarre fucking evening. Toji’s got one hell of a killer headache.

“Yo, I’m Toji,” he says after collecting himself, and she tilts her head at him, considering, but then she shrugs. “I’m your dad’s babysitter.”

She beams. “It’s nice to finally meet you! He’s mentioned you before, but not by name. He talks about you a lot.”

Color returns to Gojo’s face at that as Toji cackles. “Is it good stuff?”

“Mostly,” Megumi replies. “He says you’re nice, but annoying. Are you actually annoying?”

“Megumi!” Gojo barks, and he’s still shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. “Make a good first impression, okay?”

Megumi rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Thanks for babysitting him all the time, I guess.”

Toji laughs again. “Speaking of,” he begins. “Your dad’s not feelin’ so great right now, so I’m gonna crash on the couch tonight to make sure he’s okay.”

“Wait, what?” Gojo breathes. His eyes get weirdly wet weirdly fast, and his lips are trembling weakly when he murmurs, “You really don’t have to do that.”

Huffing, Toji argues,  “Christ, kid. How many times do I have to keep repeatin’ this? I said I would watch over you. So unless you can make me leave when you clearly need help, you better get me a spare blanket or somethin’. Otherwise I’m just gonna use a dishrag or a paper towel, and that’d be embarrassing for everyone.”

“It wouldn’t be embarrassing for me,” Megumi chimes in. “That would be pretty funny.”

Toji snorts. Some people just want to watch the world burn. “Not helpful, little guy.”

“I can find one!” the girl chirps. “I’ll be right back.”

She pads out of the room with a skip in her step, and Gojo’s eyes follow her until she disappears from sight. “Her name’s Tsumiki, by the way,” he says, voice tired and weary, like he’s accepting something Toji’s not privy to. 

“Cute name,” Toji notes.

“Yeah. They came with ‘em.”

Tsumiki returns to the living room half a minute later, holding out the blanket with a warm grin. She reminds him of Yuuji, somehow. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“Of course!” she replies. “Thanks for helping Satoru. That’s really nice of you.”

Heh. Damn right it is. “Yeah, I’m a fuckin’ saint.”

Whoops, language. Eh, they’re Gojo’s kids. Gojo has a potty mouth about half as bad as Toji’s, but that still means it’s worse than around ninety-nine percent of the population’s. 

Toji whips out his phone to ask Nanami to swing by the house and take care of Maki for the evening. Despite the late hour, Nanami replies in about fifteen seconds with a one-word text reading, ‘Fine.’

Heh. Toji can’t help but smile at that. He’s pretty sure Yuuji is crashing at Nanami’s place tonight too, which basically ensures that Maki won’t get any sleep, but whatever. Toji’s not exactly what one would call a strict parent. If something’s within safety limits and makes Maki happy, it’s pretty much fine by him.

He doesn’t regret staying to watch over Gojo tonight, but he’s still gonna miss her, even if it’s just her silent presence when they’re both fast asleep. He makes a mental note to give his daughter an extra hug after she gets home from school tomorrow.

Gojo looks even worse than before, but Toji’s got a strong feeling he wouldn’t want to be tossed over Toji’s shoulder like a soggy towel in front of his kids, so Toji will let him off the hook for once. Hey, Toji’s determined to make a good first impression, too. Lord knows Gojo’s first impression to Maki was a shitshow. 

He helps Gojo up and props him against his side, walking him carefully into his room. The walls are strangely bare; Toji would’ve expected splashes of color and peeling posters plastering the walls so densely the paint would be completely blocked out. There’s hardly anything else except for a singular, sad floor lamp tucked into the corner of the room, unplugged.

The only thing that makes the room truly look like his is the picture on the nightstand. It’s a photobooth snapshot of Gojo with his kids making silly faces, decorated with little stickers and held in a cheesy frame that reads, ‘ To the world you’re just my children, but to me you’re the whole world!’ 

Okay. That’s really fucking cute.

Toji plops Gojo down onto the mattress, plucks off his sunglasses, and tosses the covers over him. Gojo passes out almost immediately, and Toji gets a glass of cool water and places it beside the picture before flopping down onto the couch.

Toji gets up early to make Gojo and his children breakfast. He’s actually managed to successfully fry an egg two entire times in his life now, and he honestly deserves world recognition for it. Toji’s pretty sure it’s weird to be more proud of that than of having the strength to bench press a dumptruck, but who’s counting?

Two out of three eggs turn out passably decent. The third looks like it needs to be exorcised. Toji decides that one is Gojo’s and moves on.

Gojo’s kids emerge from their rooms a bit past seven and enter the kitchen already dressed and ready for school. Gojo trudges out of his room shortly after; he looks slightly better than he did the night before, but his eyes are still bruised enough to turn the blue into purple. He must catch Toji’s look of concern, because he pushes his sunglasses fully over them once he notices. Toji’s phone beeps before he can think too hard on it -- it’s a text from Nanami with a picture of Maki and Yuuji walking to school. Toji makes a note to print it out and stick it on the fridge sometime this week.

“I’m so excited!” Tsumiki is saying while Toji downs a glass of orange juice. “I’ve been looking forward to this field trip since it was announced!”

“Me too,” Megumi admits, and that must be uncharacteristic of him because of how quickly it makes Gojo smile. “I’ve heard they have over a hundred different kinds of animals. Look.” He pulls a pamphlet from his backpack and the two of them begin whispering amongst themselves.

“What, are they goin’ to a zoo?” Toji says once Gojo meanders over to him.

“Not just them. Me too,” Gojo replies, devoid of his usual pep. The lack of it is oddly jarring. “I’m a chaperone for the trip.”

“Oh boy, good luck with that. Try to make sure none of ‘em get carried away by an eagle or something.”

Gojo actually laughs a bit at that. “I’ll try.”

Toji’s still a bit worried about him, so he decides to accompany him as he walks his kids to school. There’s a bus lined up outside the gates, with groups of children crowded around it as they chatter with excitement. A woman stands between them as she tries to grab their attention, somewhat unsuccessfully.

“Gojo-san!” she greets as Gojo walks up to her. “Thanks again for signing up to chaperone. We greatly appreciate it.” She catches Toji out of the corners of her eyes and takes a stuttering breath as her cheeks heat up like a tea kettle. “Uh, who--who’s your friend?”

“Yo, I’m Toji,” he replies with a lazy wave. “I’m Gojo’s coworker.”

“T-Toji-san! I’m Yamanaka-sensei! It’s nice to meet you!” she says with a stiff bow. “We’re actually--we’re, uh, we’re one chaperone short for the field trip. Would you happen to have the time today to help out? For--for the children?”

Toji quirks an eyebrow. Since his shirt was beyond saving last night, he had to borrow one of Gojo’s before leaving the penthouse. It’s...a little tight, to put it mildly. Toji would be less certain that were the source of his current predicament if the teacher weren’t staring so hard at it. 

Whew, Toji’s ego is gonna need some knocking down after this. A singular attempt at an intellectual debate against Nanami should do the trick.

Gojo looks absolutely horrified at the idea, which of course is all the motivation Toji needs to enthusiastically agree. He clambers onto the schoolbus behind his partner and they tuck themselves into the back. 

“Do you hate me?” Gojo asks a few minutes later, without looking away from the window. Something heavy in his words almost makes it sound like a genuine question.

“Pfft.” Toji waves him off. “This is payback for bein’ a pain in the ass last night. I’m teaching you a lesson, kid. Somethin’ about not kicking mud at someone or whining for an hour straight.” He scrunches further into the absurdly tiny seat. “Your kids seem alright, though.”

“My kids?” he repeats.

“Christ, did you hit your head last night?” Toji feels like he would’ve heard that. He checked on him a few times to make sure he was alright, but he was always fast asleep. “What was that you said when you first described ‘em to me? That Tsumiki is an angel and Megumi is a menace?” Toji chuckles. “Seems about right.”

Gojo says nothing. 

“I’m glad I finally got to meet them, though,” Toji continues, to fill the awkward silence, because he’s come to learn that awkward silence around Gojo usually means the kid is freaking out about something. “Honestly, it was gettin’ kinda weird that I hadn’t yet.”

“I guess,” Gojo finally replies, and doesn’t add anything after that.

“Alright, I’ve had it. What’s the matter?” Toji asks. If Gojo is like this the whole day then Toji’s gonna get a stomachache. “Are ya worried they made a bad impression or something? Megumi’s retorts were funny, y’know. He’s a little spitfire. Just like you.”

Gojo finally meets his eyes at that, impossibly wide and brows pinched in confusion. His Six-Eyes are running on hyperdrive, burning through Toji’s soul like lasers. “Just like me?”

“Uh, yes?” Toji shakes his head. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? I think we’re the tiniest bit totally fucked if we both have amnesia.”

“I--” He leans back into the seat and closes his eyes again, dragging a hand over his weary features as his shoulders sag from released tension. “I’m fine. Sorry. I still feel like shit from that stupid curse.”

Toji feels like there’s more to it than that, but he’s not gonna press. Especially when they’re surrounded by very tiny and very impressionable schoolchildren. Toji still can’t quite figure out those weird feelings he had last night, but his brain seems done giving him any hints. Shocker.

The ride to the zoo takes around forty-five minutes; throughout it Gojo’s energy seems to slightly return, and his erratic heartbeat smooths to an even, predictable rhythm. When they arrive, Gojo orders a cup of coffee at the kiosk near the information desk.

“I didn’t know you drank coffee,” Toji notes. “Seems like something you’d hate.”

“Yeah, I do hate it,” he confirms, and then he takes a long sip, pulling a face of disgust as he swallows. “God, how does Nanami do this? It tastes like dirt brewed in the water used to soak feet during pedicures.”

Toji frowns. “How would you know what that tastes like?”

Gojo snorts. “High school was wild.”

Okay. Toji doesn’t actually want more context for that one.

The kids gather around the three adults and Yamanaka-sensei divides them into groups. Gojo ends up getting Tsumiki in his group; Megumi is in Toji’s. The three sections split into different directions, leaving Toji alone with a group of ten strange children, looking up at him expectantly.

Fuck, why the hell did he agree to this again?

“Uh, where to first?” Toji asks.

“We have a map,” some boy in a red baseball cap replies. There’s snot crusted on the outside of his nose. Toji absently wonders if there’s a pond he can chuck this kid in to wash it off. “Yamanaka-sensei already planned a route. We’re going to visit the jungle cats first.”

The kid hands Toji the map. Shit, he’s bad at reading these. Too bad there isn’t any ‘You Are Here,’ sticker, though he supposes that’d be too much to ask for from a portable guide.

Eventually he (probably) gets his bearings, and the kids trot after him like little ducklings. Megumi hangs in the back of the clump, silent as a ghost while the rest of the children talk amongst each other. “Oi, kid,” Toji calls. Every kid looks at him. Yeah, he’s gonna have to kick that habit for the day. “I meant Megumi. C’mere.”

Megumi scowls but scoots over to his side nonetheless. “Hey, you should socialize with your classmates or somethin’.”

In response, Megumi scowls harder. “I don’t wanna.” He folds his arms stubbornly. “I’m here to see animals, not people.”

Oh, so he’s that type? Yuuji loves animals, too. Somehow, Toji bets they’d get along. “Maybe, but I’m gonna give ya two choices. Either socialize with your classmates, or socialize with me.”

Bingo. That does it. Megumi scampers over to Snot Kid and the two start talking about--tissues, it seems. Well, at least the kid’s about as subtle as his dad.

They arrive at their destination and the kids scatter, looking on in awe at the jungle cats. Megumi immediately zips over to the tigers; Yuuji’s favorite animal, Toji recalls. Now he’s sure they’d get along. Although, Megumi is actually making the effort to read the informational plaques about each of the animals. Yuuji would probably just try to pet them. And likely succeed.

He allows the children to wander around for a bit longer before heading to their next stop, and it takes a lot longer than he’d care to admit to wrangle them all into a cohesive group again. Toji leisurely leads them towards the marine exhibit, letting them stop and take a look at other attractions on their way. He’s pretty sure the schedule is just a loose guideline, anyway. At least that’s how he’s interpreting it.

But Gojo’s son. He just keeps wandering off. Toji has to jog back to drag him to the main group three times on their journey before he eventually gives up. Drastic measures it is.

He hoists the kid off the ground and Megumi immediately protests. Toji plops him on his shoulders and continues walking while the other kids giggle behind him.

“Hey! Put me down!” he insists, in the exact same tone his dad used the night before.

Toji shakes his head. “No can do. This is what happens to troublemakers.”

Megumi yanks on his hair. Toji yelps more out of surprise than of actual pain. 

“Nice try, but that ain’t gonna work,” he shoots back, swatting Megumi’s hand away. “Believe me, ya can’t put me through any worse shit than your dad already does on a daily basis.”

The kid makes a grumpy sound above him but gives up quickly. He stops squirming for a grand total of thirty seconds before he pokes Toji again. “Since you work with Satoru, does that mean you’re a sorcerer too?” he asks in a quiet voice, to keep his classmates from overhearing.

“Well, not really,” Toji replies. Or rather, not at all. “They’re fun to beat up, though.”

Megumi hums in agreement, as if he can relate to that. Toji’s reminded that Gojo said his son gets into fights on a concerningly regular basis. Toji had to carry one of their missions solo recently so he could go to yet another parent-teacher conference. According to him, Gojo’s gotten pretty good at flirting the warnings off Megumi’s report cards.

“I’m gonna be a sorcerer when I grow up,” Megumi says.

“That so?” Toji replies. “You wanna be like your dad?”

Megumi’s quiet for a minute or so. “You do realize Satoru isn’t my biological father, right?”

No shit. “Yeah, I know. Gojo told me he adopted ya after--” He cuts himself off. Probably shouldn’t repeat that.

“After my biological father abandoned me,” Megumi finishes. Toji flinches. Ouch.

Eh, maybe he can still recover from that slip. “Sounds like that guy wasn’t your real dad.”

“I mean. He technically was.”

“Aw, you’re gonna live life on a technicality? Where’s the fun in that?” Toji starts. “The way I see it, your dad’s the one who stays by your side, takes care of ya when you’re sick, and refuses to miss any of your soccer games no matter how many times you tell him not to come.” He taps Megumi on the knee. “Your dad is Gojo, kid. Just accept it.”

The kid kicks Toji in the chest. “Satoru sucks.”

“Ha!” Toji bites his tongue to keep from laughing harder. “Well, you’ll get no arguments from me on that.” He drums his fingers against Megumi’s ankle, expression softening into a slight grin. “He loves you a lot, y’know.”

A short silence. “I know.”

Toji flicks Megumi on the leg. “You love him too, don’t ya?”

That’s followed by a much longer silence. Megumi tenses up a bit, lets go of Toji’s hair. Shit, maybe he shouldn’t have asked that. Gojo did say he hasn’t had them for very long, after all. Toji resigns himself to the notion that the rest of their walk to visit the seals is going to be in silence, until Megumi finally responds:

“I accepted it.”

Toji looks up. “Hm?”

“That Satoru is my--y’know.”

Toji’s face splits into a wide grin. “Ah. I see.”

Megumi kicks Toji again. “Don’t tell him.”

Cackling, “Anyone ever told ya that you’re a real rascal?”

Toji puts Megumi down once they arrive at the marine area and the kid dashes over to join his classmates. The children cheer excitedly as the zoo attendant tosses fish to the seals and the creatures breach the surface of the water, spirals of droplets gyrating off their bodies and showering the zone closest to the tank with a light mist, speckling the concrete like sun-kissed freckles. 

Their last stop of the day is the butterfly exhibit. It’s a humid room closed off from the rest of the zoo, populated by dense rainforest foliage in every shade of green on the color wheel, leaves of mismatched shapes and sizes mingling like old friends, lounging beside one another in peaceful harmony amidst hammocks of dense vines. The air smells of mulch and artificial rain, wellspring fresh and mountaintop cool, coating the outer layer of Toji’s skin with a thin film of moisture. Sunlight cuts through the gaps in the canopy in prismatic rays, painting everything they touch with molten gold. Kaleidoscopes of butterflies gently flap their wings, delicate as lace and colored like tissue paper, fluttering through the area in meandering paths like a winding river.

Even Toji can’t help but be a little impressed. Something about the wonders of nature, blah blah blah. 

The kids seem equally starstruck. Megumi looks on in awe and reaches out for one, but it flies out of reach before he can graze it. Something about the slight disappointment on his face makes Toji’s insides twist like a wrung towel, so he gambles at picking the kid up one more time so he can try to touch it.

Megumi seems annoyed at first, but stops struggling when he realizes what Toji’s doing. He giggles with childlike glee when one of the butterflies lands on his nose, and Toji can’t help the warm feeling that spreads throughout his chest.

Toji ushers the children back to the main entrance once it’s time to reconvene with the rest of the groups. He catches Gojo struggling to prevent several children from wandering into the gorilla enclosure, which feels like a disaster waiting to happen. Whatever. That’s not Toji’s problem.

Megumi scampers back to Gojo’s side once all three groups are together once again, a bit later than the schedule requested. “Satoru,” Megumi says as he tugs on the hem of his dad’s shirt. “Toji called me a rascal.”

No way. Toji cracks up. “Oh my god, are you tattling on me?” 

Megumi tucks himself behind Gojo’s leg and peeks out at Toji with a scowl. Gojo pats him on the head, but that seems to annoy him too. “Well, he was right,” Gojo returns. Megumi looks positively betrayed.

Toji laughs again and shakes his head. “You two really are similar. What’s that phrase again? Like father like son, right?”

Why does Gojo look like he’s about to throw up? He’s tense for another moment before crouching down in front of Megumi, staring at his son with a look of concern while Megumi tilts his head quizzically back. With no further warning, Gojo throws his arms around him in a tight hug, pulling him close as Megumi blinks in shock.

“Satoru!” he whines. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“Sorry, kid,” Gojo says after releasing him, then stands up to rustle his hair. “Just felt like doing that.”

Tsumiki skips over to him and he gives her a hug too, for good measure. Yamanaka-sensei leads the class to the gift shop and the children dart off in a spiderweb of directions to peruse the shelves. There’s a stuffed tiger cub Toji immediately selects for Yuuji, and he finds a swan for Maki shortly after. 

A flicker of black and white across glossy paper catches Toji’s eye. It’s a poster of a zebra sleeping beneath a tree on the plains; it reminds him a bit of Gojo, somehow. Maybe it’s the color scheme. 

The kid’s room really was depressingly bare. Fuck, Toji can’t believe he’s about to do this. He takes all three items to the checkout counter and shoves them in his bag after paying before Gojo can notice. Gojo purchases souvenirs for his children too -- Tsumiki and Megumi excitedly receive stuffed animals of an elephant and a wolf, respectively. They thank their dad before sitting on the bus with their classmates.

Once they’re all back on the bus and Toji and Gojo have crammed themselves into the back, Toji drums against the windowsill. “Y’know, I bet our kids would get along great. Why don’t they come over for a playdate after school today?”

Gojo perks up. “I--” He slams his mouth shut, teeth clacking together so hard it makes both of them wince. “I guess I wouldn’t be against it.”

“Yeah, why would you be?” Toji replies, only half-kidding. Gojo’s been acting weird all day and Toji doesn’t know what to take seriously anymore. “C’mon, it’ll be fun for ‘em. Lord knows Maki and Yuuji need more close friends.” He knows the two of them are popular at school, but they’re still surgically attached to one another outside of it. 

“Okay,” Gojo sighs. “Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be fine. I mean--fun.”

“Great.” Toji kicks back against the seat in front of him, ignoring how the kid sitting in it shrieks in surprise. He closes his eyes and zeroes in on the sound of the wheels crunching against the asphalt, drowning out his swimming thoughts in the sea of noises all around him.

-----------------------

Maki wanders past the threshold of her and Toji’s apartment with a yawn, allowing her backpack to slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. Yuuji flits in behind her and plops his bag beside hers, skipping over to the fridge to drink apple juice straight from the bottle. A new habit of his, thanks to the one time he saw Toji do it and decided to adopt it as a personality trait. 

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that Toji had been chugging beer instead. So here they are. 

She’s tired, but not much more so than usual, despite her impromptu sleepover. Normally Maki would’ve wanted to stay up all night telling stories or causing mischief, but sometimes she wonders if Nanami has heightened senses as well, from how he’d always pop his head in when the two of them started whispering, insistently reminding them that it was a school night. Maki’s not used to strict parenting; because yes, that is exactly what he does to Yuuji, and her by extension when they're together. 

She’s just waiting for the day Yuuji accidentally calls him ‘Dad.’ Her, Toji, Yuki, and Gojo all have a betting pool going. She’s looking forward to them forking over their special-grade salaries upon her inevitable victory. 

Toji wanders through the door not long after, looking much more tired than usual. Gojo is in tow, looking the worst of them all. But when Toji catches sight of her some of his fatigue seems to instantly dissipate. He lifts her up unexpectedly and props her in his elbow.

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I wasn’t home last night,” he says softly, tucking a lock of hair caught in her glasses behind her ear. “You shoulda seen the mess the idiot got himself into.” 

Yeah, that checks out. Gojo looks like a stringbean on a good day, but now he looks like one that’s been dried in the sun. She makes a mental note to go a little easy on him at Bullying Gojo Club tomorrow. 

“Anyways, look what I got ya,” he says, withdrawing something from his half-open bag. “I saw it and thought of you.”

It’s not just open declarations of love that show her that he does. It’s the little thoughtful things like this, proving that someone is always thinking of her. She gingerly takes the swan from his grasp, clutching it to her chest. “Thanks, Toji. It’s awesome.”

Toji puts her down shortly after and rummages around until he grabs something else. “You too, kid,” he says to Yuuji, handing him a stuffed tiger. 

Yuuji squeals with delight and throws his arms around Toji’s leg. He still tenses up whenever someone other than Maki shows him physical affection, but he pulls it together quickly enough to pat Yuuji on the head.

“Ooh, presents!” Gojo crows, hopping up and down the same way Yuuji did last Christmas. “Did you get something for me too?” he jokes.

Then Toji heaves a sigh so deep Maki is almost surprised he doesn’t deflate from how much air leaves his body. He glances down at something in his bag as if he kind of regrets being alive then he reaches into it anyway, handing a glossy roll of paper to his partner without looking at him.

“If you say a word about this ever again, then we’re gonna have to finish that tiebreaker fight of ours.”

Gojo’s eyes widen so much that Maki catches how incredibly bloodshot they are behind those dark glasses, thin crimson threads stitched in the whites of his eyes like creeks of needlepoint. “Oh. You did. That’s--” He swallows hard, and Maki can’t help but think that this is way more choked up than anyone ought to be over a dorky poster of a zebra.  “--uh, nice. Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it. Literally, I mean that.”

Gojo stares at it with an undefinable expression for another few seconds before carefully tucking it into his bag. The two of them exchange glances once then Gojo darts out the door, only for his footsteps to come tapping back up the staircase outside about half a minute later.

But this time, he’s not alone.

Two tiny heads peek out cautiously from behind where he stands in the doorway, staring at Maki and Yuuji as if they’ve just discovered aliens.

“Uh, these are Gojo’s kids,” Toji says as he gestures to the two of them, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious from the way they’re both clinging to him like baby kangaroos. “Play nice with ‘em, or something.”

The girl waves shyly at Maki and Yuuji. The boy tucks himself behind Gojo further, clearly trying to disappear into the blackness of his pants like an extension of his shadow.

Maki’s come a long way at interacting with kids her age, but she can’t help still feeling hesitant about making the first move. 

Fortunately, considering who her best friend is, she never, ever has to.

“Hi!” Yuuji chirps, waving at them with such enthusiasm that Maki genuinely believes several clouds part from the afternoon sky, just so the sun can catch a jealous glimpse at the boy who’s outperforming it at its only job. “I’m Yuuji Itadori and my favorite animal is a tiger!”

The girl steps out from behind Gojo and skips over to them with a friendly grin. “Nice to meet you! I’m Tsumiki and my favorite animals are elephants!”

She looks at Maki expectantly. Maki takes a deep breath and decides, fuck it. It’s time for confidence. “Hi, I’m Maki. I like swans.”

Tsumiki voices her agreement and the three of them begin chatting idly. That said, it’s hard not to notice how often Tsumiki is glancing back at her brother.

“Megumi,” Gojo says quietly to his son, poking his fingers into a mess of hair the color of spilled ink with the texture of pine needles. “Go make friends, okay?”

Megumi fervently shakes his head. Maki instantly reads him as the type to get ridiculously attached but never admit it. He’s scowling up at his dad horribly, but has yet to let go of his iron grasp on the hem of Gojo’s shirt. 

“C’mon, Megumi!” Tsumiki encourages. “They’re really nice! It’ll be fun!”

Megumi grumbles something that sounds like, “But I don’t wanna have fun,” under his breath, but he finally gives in to Gojo and his sister’s pleading. He shuffles over the three of them and stops about a meter away, a safe distance from actually looking like he’s part of the group.

”I’m Megumi,” he mumbles. Tsumiki gestures for him to continue, urging him to complete what’s somehow become the standard introduction. “I like dogs, I guess.”

So Maki glances at Yuuji. He’s wearing that expression he had on right when they first met, when they’d locked eyes and he realized she was all alone in the sandbox and instantly decided it was his mission to make sure she was never alone again.

Yuuji hops over to Megumi with an earnest smile, stopping just short of crashing into him.

“That’s great! Dogs are awesome,” Yuuji agrees, backing out of Megumi’s personal space when he’s visibly uncomfortable. Yuuji is oblivious in many ways, but he’s far more perceptive to emotions than an outsider may think. It caught Maki off-guard, at first. He’s relentless in his compassion, so incredibly caring that it’s almost criminal. “What kind of dogs are your favorite?”

Megumi’s eyes widen, as if no one’s ever asked him that before. “Um--” he starts, clearly at a loss. “All of them?”

The answer is so much like Yuuji’s answer to everything that Maki, in all her strength, is utterly defeated by the smile that spreads across her features. Yuuji beams like the ocean under the glow of the moon. “Really?! Me too!” he replies. “Do you have any dogs as pets?”

Megumi glances back at Gojo, as if asking permission for something. Gojo doesn’t react. It’s like he’s turned into a statue. What the hell?

Hesitantly, Megumi turns back to Yuuji. “Two.”

“Whoa, two? That’s even better. I can’t wait to meet them someday!” he declares, as if they’re already on that level of friendship. This might honestly be her favorite thing about him. He bulldozes through iron walls as if they’re nothing more than tinfoil. 

“That--” Megumi gulps. “Might be a little complicated.”

Yuuji seems undeterred. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, and Maki genuinely believes that they will.

“So what do you guys want to do together?” Tsumiki asks, after a few seconds of silence. “Do you want to play?”

Maki perks up as a lightbulb flickers on in her head. “I’ve got an idea. Grab your backpacks and follow me.”

Tsumiki nods in agreement, but Megumi is slower to comply. It’s only after Gojo shakes off whatever weird mood he’s in and physically hands Megumi his backpack and half-shoves his kid out the door that he finally follows. 

Maki leads the four of them through the winding blocks of the neighborhood, darting through shortcuts she and Yuuji have charted after months of exploring. The park is usually more lively, now that it’s almost summer; but tiny breaths of rain whisper amongst the clouds, not quite drops but still more than a mist. It’s enough to glaze the playground with a slippery layer of water, but fortunately, that’s not why they’re here.

“Whoa,” Tsumiki exhales. “What a pretty treehouse!”

“Toji built it for me last Christmas,” Maki says proudly.

“He built it himself?” Tsumiki says with awe. “That’s amazing! He’s really talented!”

Uh, sure. Maki chooses to keep overhearing his late-night confession to Yuki about how many times he almost hammered a nail into his hand a secret for the moment. “Yup. He’s just cool like that.”

Megumi says nothing, but he doesn’t look quite as annoyed to be here anymore. His eyes are fixated on a pair of squirrels chasing each other in a playful dance between the branches. 

“Let’s climb up!” Yuuji suggests. He surveys the rope ladder for about three seconds before leaping to a mid branch instead, a solid three meters up. Maki doesn’t blink. She can’t say the same about Megumi and Tsumiki.

“Uh, what?” Megumi mumbles. Yuuji hangs over the branch like a lemur to beckon him up.

“You can use the rope if you want,” Yuuji offers as he points to it. Yeah, that’s probably not what Megumi was confused about. 

Hesitantly, Gojo’s kids follow. Maki climbs up after them. The air smells of damp driftwood and wicker rope; but it’s still dry on the upper branches, thanks to the thick umbrella of leaves that fight amongst each other for the space at the top of the tree. Once they’re inside the structure, Maki rests her backpack in one of the treehouse’s corners.

Tsumiki peeks at the fuzzy white wing peeking out from the folds of Maki’s backpack. “Oh, did your dad also get you something today?” She reaches a hand into her own bag and proudly holds out a stuffed elephant as if it’s a trophy. “Satoru did too!”

Hey, that gives Maki an idea. It almost reminds her of her first playdate with Yuuji, when they’d tucked themselves beneath a tree on the riverbank to fashion their grass dolls, carrying each other into faraway lands through their tales. She flits over to her backpack, tugs out the swan, and puts it in her lap. “Why don’t we make up a story with them?”

Megumi turns up his nose. “Playing with stuffed animals is for kids.”

Come on. Maki slants an eyebrow. “Uh, we are kids.”

Yuuji launches to his feet like a bottle rocket. “That’s a great idea, Maki!” His new tiger is hugged tightly to his chest seconds later. “Do you think they could all go on an adventure? Oh! What if we do it somewhere unusual, instead of the jungle? Like maybe...the ocean!”

“The ocean?” Megumi says incredulously. He still hasn’t retrieved whatever gift his dad gave him from his backpack. “A tiger, a swan, and an elephant in the ocean?”

“Sure!” Yuuji exclaims. “Anything is possible if you use your imagination!”

Maki snorts. It sounds like a tagline for one of those morning cartoons he sometimes subjects her to. On second thought, it might actually be.

“Elephants can swim,” Maki informs him, as if logic is somehow necessary for this. Megumi just frowns back.

“I know,” he replies. Maki blinks; that’s actually a little-known fact. “Fine. Whatever. I guess they can be in the ocean.” He opens up his bag and pulls out a gray wolf with whiskers as prickly as his hair. “He’s gonna ride on the elephant’s back though. He doesn’t like getting wet.”

Maki has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from breaking into a smug grin. ‘Playing with stuffed animals is for kids’ my ass, she thinks. You’re the one who already gave it a personality.

It takes a lot more effort than she’d care to admit to keep from gloating. In her defense, Toji is raising her.

Tsumiki is happy to oblige her brother’s request -- that kinda seems like a pattern that goes both ways. Yuuji outlines a loose plot of the animals embarking on a voyage, then the four of them begin playing.

Maki’s swan ends up acting like the captain, soaring high in the sky to serve as a lookout. There’s a brief tangent where they all pretend to be lost at sea, and it’s weirdly satisfying to have the chance to point them in the right direction.

“Why do you like swans so much?” Megumi asks. Maki thinks at first he’s jabbing at her for not having an exotic animal like the other three, but he does just seem genuinely curious.

“Well...they’re beautiful,” Maki begins. “But they’re not like that in the beginning. They start out awkward and clumsy and have to survive many hardships to grow up. But when they do, I’ve heard they’re aggressive. Protective of their families and dangerous when provoked, but tender to the ones they love. I read that they’re almost synonymous with loyalty and honor.” She gazes  out the mahogany slats of the window. “I want to be like that someday.”

“Oh,” Megumi replies, as if he wasn’t expecting an answer that deep. He looks at Yuuji. “Then why do you like tigers?”

“Because they’re cool!” he replies enthusiastically. Megumi sighs. Maki elects not to tell him about the impossible depth of Yuuji’s emotions for now. It’ll be hilarious to watch as a surprise.

They resume their story shortly after. Megumi’s wolf does end up eventually swimming in the water, and Yuuji laughs out loud at Megumi’s attempt to make it look like it’s doing the doggie-paddle.

“So what’s it like having Gojo as a dad?” Maki asks, during a brief pause in their conversation. “No offense, but how are you not dead?”

Tsumiki giggles. “He’s a little strange, but he tries really hard!” she begins. “I know he’s super busy, but he’s still never missed any of Megumi’s soccer games or my piano recitals. He’s learning Pokémon so he can play it with Megumi and his friend is teaching him how to braid hair for me. And--” Tsumiki blushes shyly. “He loves us a lot. Even if he isn’t good at a lot of things, he’s really great at that.”

As chaotic as Gojo is, Maki can actually picture it. He’s like Toji, almost frighteningly so. She’s seen how he acts around people who care about him. How much meaning means to him. He shines like an empty cave lit by a dawning sun. 

“Limitless also helps,” Megumi admits. “He blew up our microwave recently.”

“Megumi! You shouldn’t place all the blame on him!” Tsumiki reprimands. “We also didn’t know you couldn’t put aluminum foil in there.”

“But did he really have to microwave a fork afterwards just to make sure?”

Well. Maki doesn’t think Toji would go that far. Although she did see him accidentally switch the locations for milk and laundry detergent once, and when he poured the latter into his cereal, he seemed to seriously consider eating it anyway.

“So are you guys sorcerers too like your dad?” Yuuji asks.

Megumi and Tsumiki exchange a startled glance.

“You guys know about that stuff?” Megumi wavers.

“Of course we do,” Maki replies matter-of-factly, and an unstoppable tide surges from her lips with the force of a tsunami when she adds, “I’m Toji’s daughter, after all.”

She hates how easily the words tumble off her tongue. Like if she wants this badly enough, it’ll somehow become the truth.

Megumi and Tsumiki seem satisfied by that answer. Megumi looks back at Yuuji. “Wait, then how do you know about curses?”

“I stabbed one!” Yuuji chirps casually, as if he’s describing catching a cool bug. Megumi’s eye twitches.

“Well, alrighty then.”

“Oh! Check this out.” Yuuji darts over to his backpack and flicks on his curse glasses. “It’s so me and Maki can see them!”

Tsumiki tilts her head. “Wait, so you guys aren’t sorcerers?”

“Yes and no,” Maki says, for lack of a better explanation. Yuuji is going to start training with her soon. “Are you?”

“I’m not, but Megumi is.” She nudges her brother on the shoulder. “Go on! Show them.”

Megumi seems reluctant, to put it lightly. “I don’t think I should do that.”

“Why not?” Yuuji says, more curious than insistent. “You don’t have to hide it! In fact, you don’t have to hide anything about yourself at all. That’s what friends are for!”

Megumi’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “Well--” He gulps. “Uh, okay.”

He rises to his feet, drawing in a sharp breath. He drops to a ready stance and clasps his hands together, forming shadow puppets on the walls. “Divine Dogs!”

Wisps of faded black twist up from the cracks between the floorboards, from the webbed silhouette of damp leaves cast on the roof, from the velvety penumbra within the confines of their backpacks. Two small dogs with eyes like tourmaline materialize out of the darkness, a high-pitched howl echoing throughout the treehouse.

More like Divine Puppies, she thinks absently, as the two puppies prance about the treehouse, and then the realization hits her like a metric ton of bricks. “Holy fuck,” she can’t stop herself from saying. “Do you have Ten Shadows?!”

Megumi’s jaw drops. “How do you know about that?”

“Are you a fucking Zen’in?!”

“Technically,” he exhales, staring at her like he’s seeing a ghost. “Although, my last name is Fushiguro.”

Maki hadn’t bothered when she first met him, but she forces past the utter shock to read his cursed energy. She hadn’t known how to open herself to it when she was still living with the clan, but the essence of it is still unmistakable: the bitter edge to his presence that stings like alcohol in a papercut, so grim and sullen that it’s almost resentful, as if his soul itself regrets the sorry excuse for a family he was born into. 

“Who are your parents?” she gasps.

“I don’t know,” Megumi breathes. “Satoru took me in after my father tried to--” Megumi gulps. “Well, he wasn’t around.”

What? Maki squints at him. How could the Zen’in clan let a boy with their most precious inherited technique slip through their fingers? Gojo accidentally said offhand once that Megumi and Tsumiki were abandoned, but now she can’t help but wonder if it’s somehow more complicated than that. Did Gojo save his adoptive children from the Zen’in clan too, just like Toji did for her? Despite herself, her respect for him skyrockets at the idea of it.

“How do you know about Ten Shadows?” Megumi repeats, dragging her ashore just before she drowns in her thoughts. He scans her appearance as if he’s looking for something, and seems to recognize that they do look kinda similar at the same time she does. “Are you a Zen’in too?”

“Technically,” she says, echoing his response. “Although, my last name is Tsukumo.”

Well, that’s one hell of a way to make it official. Maki can’t bring herself to process that. Not now.

“So your dad left the clan to have you, then?” Megumi says, sitting back down as one of the puppies crawls into his lap and tries to lick the uneasiness off his face. “I get that. Satoru said that if I went to live with the clan, Tsumiki would’ve been mistreated.” He scratches the dog gently on the head. “That was cool of him, I guess. He doesn’t seem so bad.”

Unable to find it within herself to correct him, Maki can only nod. Not even Yuuji knows she hasn’t been living with Toji her whole life. She’s thought about telling him, but she can never find the words. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, to dissipate the adrenaline racing through her blood, pumping her with energy she doesn’t know how to spend. 

Maki scrubs her face behind her glasses. The black puppy hops over to her, pressing a comforting snout against her shoulder. She manages a smile at that.

Tsumiki and Yuuji have both been quiet this whole time. After another minute or so of silence, Yuuji finally speaks again. “That’s actually pretty cool that you’re related!” he chirps. He can tell she’s shaken, it’s obvious from the desperation in his voice to cheer her up. “But those Zen’in guys sound like they’re the worst.”

“Yup,” Maki and Megumi say in perfect unison, then they meet each others’ eyes with a slight grin, and Maki decides that maybe being related to this kid won’t totally suck.

They return to their story after that, and Megumi has to give each of his puppies a stick to convince them the stuffed animals aren’t toys for them. Tsumiki seems used to the fact that she can’t see them, but Yuuji is nowhere near used to the fact that he can. Eventually he just lets them both attack him with love through a fit of giggles, and they stick to him the rest of the day like a magnet. 

Toji and Gojo beckon them out of the treehouse just before dinner, then he and his kids head home. Yuuji’s grandfather is finally back from the hospital again, so she and Toji walk him to his place after the three of them share dinner. On the way back, Maki tells Toji about her connection to Megumi. Other than mild surprise and confusion, he doesn’t really react, and thanks to his almost nonexistent remaining knowledge of the Zen’in clan his speculations are useless at best. They share a laugh at how surprisingly in-character it is for Gojo to pick up a Zen’in stray given his standing in the major sorcerer clans, and Maki decides to shelve the topic for further contemplation later. 

Megumi and Tsumiki come over again in a few days. It really is something, when two worlds collide: while Yuuji and Tsumiki are binary suns, Maki and Megumi are binary moons. Everything is twice as bright.

When dinner rolls around, Yuki shows up. Toji hops to his feet to greet her and chucks his empty bottle of Forbidden Apple Juice into the recycling can as he plants a swift kiss to her cheek that makes them both flush, and she hardly has time to say hi to Gojo before Megumi and Tsumiki zip over to greet her. Toji briefly explains that Maki and Megumi are somehow related, and she barely has time to consider it before Divine Puppies tackle her to the floor.

At the stroke of eight, Nanami arrives. Maki hadn’t realized Toji invited everyone. When Toji opens the door, Nanami takes one look at the group of people before him, something flashes across his face like a bolt of lightning striking a lake, then he locks eyes with Gojo and says: 

“Can we talk?”

-----------------------

“Gojo,” Nanami glowers, once the two of them are outside. “Are those Toji’s children?”

Gojo's heartbeat utterly stops -- not abruptly, but grinding, like train wheels screeching against the tracks in a desperate attempt to keep from derailing. Gojo barely manages a laugh through the sparks and broken glass in his throat. “Uh, are you Yuuji’s dad?”

But Nanami doesn’t take the bait. “This is what you were hiding, wasn’t it? You didn’t just take two children off the street. You took his after you thought you killed him.”

It’s not even a question anymore. He says it like it’s a fundamental law of the universe. Gojo gulps. “A little bit.”

“A little bit?!” he shoots back, and Nanami’s glare has always been more than a little judgmental but now Gojo feels like a criminal that’s been sentenced to death. “How am I the only one that put two and two together?!”

“Well, you’re the only one with a working brain cell,” Gojo wavers.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Gojo.”

“It’s not flattery, I’m just stating a fact,” he replies. “And besides. The way Maki and Yuki see Toji might be a bit--” Gojo looks away. “Distorted.”

Nanami sighs, as if he can’t really argue with that. “Then what about Megumi and Tsumiki?”

“Megumi was very, very young when he left,” Gojo starts. “And Tsumiki only met him once. He’s not her biological father, his second wife was her mom.”

Narrowing his eyes,  “Second wife?”

“Yeah. First one bit the dust, died of an illness.” Gojo squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the headache, but it’s far too late. “They’re both dead, actually. I checked. Couple months after they got married, Tsumiki’s mom got wasted and wrapped her car around a tree.”

Nanami flinches. “Seriously?” His hard expression falters. “Does Tsumiki know?”

“No.”

Nanami grumbles something Gojo chooses not to listen to under his breath. He loosens his tie, trying to get some air. He grapples with finding the right words for another thirty seconds before eventually giving up and saying, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

A thousand snarky comebacks claw up his throat, but the truth somehow gets there first. “Being a dad.”

Nanami’s jaw drops a little. “What?”

“Listen--” Gojo starts. “I know it’s crazy. And I hadn’t even initially intended to do anything about it, but then Suguru left, and I failed to protect everything, including him, Haibara, and Amanai. Then I realized that even if I couldn’t save one child, maybe there were others I still could.” Gojo shakes his head. “They needed me, Nanami. I wanted to give them something they never had.” He shoves his glasses against his eyes. “Something I never had.”

Nanami winces. “Wasn’t your father—“

“Yeah,” Gojo cuts him off. “Yeah. Whatever you heard, it was probably true.”

“I see.” Nanami averts his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s—“ Gojo swallows hard. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago. I barely even remember it.”

Nanami doesn’t look like he believes that. Oh well, he’s not wrong. 

Then Nanami is silent, and Gojo can practically hear him thinking, and his mind slams into warp drive, shredding through the fabric of time and space like a switchblade.

“I know this’ll all blow up in my face someday. I saw it the night they met: there’s some part of him that remembers Megumi, even if he doesn’t remember everything. I’d never be stupid enough to deny that he’ll fill in the blanks someday, but--” He just barely blinks back the tears. “His last act back then was telling me to take care of Megumi. Me.”  

Nanami’s expression is torn down the middle, half-furious and half-stricken with sorrow. He doesn’t reply.

“I already lost everything once, and that was only one person,” Gojo continues. He sniffles, despite himself. “This time, it’d be my entire family.”

Nanami takes a moment to press his tie over his eyes, leaning back his head with some gut-wrenching mix of emotions Gojo doesn’t want to analyze. “Shit.”

Blinking, “You’re not gonna tell me to just cook up some story that circumvents the truth and pass them off to him while I leave empty-handed?

“I might’ve,” Nanami murmurs. “Before.”

Gojo pinches his brows. “Before what?”

“I’m just saying--” Nanami interrupts himself with a sigh. “I now understand how easy it is to become attached to a child.”

In spite of it all, Gojo finds himself smiling slightly. “Right.” The flicker of joy is gone in less than a second. “It’s not just for me. If I tell him, he’s bound to ask why. There are only so many lies I can feed him while still being able to live with myself.” Gojo scrubs his hands down his features. “He’s happy, Nanami. I won’t take that away from him. I can’t.”

Nanami shoves his hands into his pockets. “So he still doesn’t know who -- what -- he was?”

Gojo shakes his head. “No. He doesn’t. And with who he is now, he’d hate himself if he found out. Nanami, everyone here looks up to him.”

Sometimes, Gojo thinks Toji is larger than life, the summit of a mountain in human form. Gojo might consider him unreachable if he didn’t climb down to hoist everyone in his life to stand beside him.

“But what would they think if they found out the truth?” Gojo adds, grinding his teeth. “He murdered an innocent little girl for money. He left his children to rot and starve. He didn’t just abandon Megumi, he tried to sell him to the Zen’in clan.”

Nanami smacks a palm against his forehead. “Mother of god.” He peeks out through his fingers. “And the clan didn’t try to collect on that?”

Gojo shakes his head again. “They did, actually. The head of the clan tried to take him.”

Confused, Nanami tilts his head. “Then how did you stop him?”

“I told him that every curse he’s ever fought in his life combined wouldn’t come close to the true horror he would experience if he tried to steal my son away from me.”

“Wow, okay. Well, that’ll do it.”

Yeah, that did do it. Naobito may be a fool, but he’s not foolish enough to disobey death threats he knows Gojo could follow through. Would follow through. He truly would’ve done it, with zero hesitation. “Does all of that sound like the Toji you know?”

“It sounds like the Toji I heard horror stories about,” Nanami exhales. “But no. Not the one I know.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Gojo replies. “Both of his wives are dead, Nanami. Do you think he would ever let himself fall in love again if he knew that? He would probably think he was cursed or something.”

Nanami sighs. “It’s not like Yuki can’t handle herself.”

“Oh, you noticed that too?”

“I’m not blind, Gojo.”

They kind of are, at least for the moment. But they’ll figure it out eventually. He already has her damn last name. Gojo squeezes his fists. “Listen. I don’t fucking care if it’s unfair to the people he killed that he’s happy now. I owe him too much. I never thought I’d feel human again after Suguru called me The Strongest and then left me behind. I was prepared to accept that. But he gave it back to me.” Gojo’s eyes flicker to his former classmate. “Hey, did you know? I’m only nineteen. I’m just a kid.”

Nanami nods slowly. “I know.”

So Gojo exhales a shallow breath. “He really does have a way with words, doesn't he?”

“Not in a traditional sense, but surprisingly, yes. He truly does.” Nanami meets Gojo’s gaze. “It’s not even that he’s the only one who understands you. He makes you understandable. You should’ve heard what he said to me about you on parents’ day. In thirty seconds, I understood more about you than I learned in three years.”

“Dammit.” His unshed tears are burning him like acid. “It’s eating me alive. It hurts so much I think I’m gonna die sometimes. I mean, all of this is my fault in the first place--” Gojo chokes, and he’s always been horrible at talking about his feelings but now they’re just gushing out of him like an open wound. “Toji tried to assassinate me twice and I don’t even care anymore. But the third time we fought was different. “

“How did he find you the third time?”

“He didn’t find me. I found him. He was beating up a bunch of low-lives and sorcerers, but that isn’t why I went. Do you want to know why I went, Nanami? I went so I could kill him before he could take Megumi and Tsumiki away from me. Aren’t I awful? And now I’m making him look after me.”

But Nanami just frowns back. “You’re not making him do anything, Gojo. I don’t think you realize that Toji looks at Maki almost the same way he looks at you.”

Gojo can only laugh and shake his head. “But Toji sees Maki as his child.”

Nanami’s expression softens. “I know.”

Oh.

So that’s why, isn’t it? Why he carried Gojo home after their recent mission, why he slept on the couch that night just in case Gojo needed him? Why he bought that dorky zebra poster, why he already had that extra ticket to the amusement park even before he asked Gojo to come? Why he defends Gojo to everyone who tries to tear him down, tries to call him a god instead of a human being? Why he whispered between the lines of snarky words that he’s not going to let Gojo be left all alone ever again?

‘I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re stuck with each other now. I guess I’ve gotta look after you.’

“Well,” Gojo croaks. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Nanami agrees. “Fuck indeed.”

“H-how am I supposed to deal with that?” Gojo stammers. “How am I supposed to sleep at night, knowing that? Nanami, he told me to tell his children that I love them.”

“Well, did you do it?”

“What? Of course I did. He was right.”

“Gojo. Listen to yourself.” Nanami raises an eyebrow. “‘He was right?’ Answer me something. When was the last time you took anyone’s advice other than his?”

The question knocks the wind out clear out of Gojo’s chest, dissipating the last of his strength into the evening. “I--I don’t remember,” he breathes. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? It doesn’t. I actually think I feel worse. A lot worse. They love me back, Nanami. How is that okay? It’s not. It’s not okay. It’s not okay, and I don’t care that it’s not okay, and I think I might be a horrible person for not caring that it’s not okay. You were right, too. What the hell am I doing? Nanami, I--”

“Gojo.”

“What?”

“It’s not a sin to want to be loved.”

Gojo’s breath hitches. “Huh?”

“Being loved isn’t a luxury. It’s a right.”

Gojo screws his eyes shut. “Do I even have that right after everything I’ve done?”

Then Nanami heaves a sigh. “You are not your past, Gojo. Your past is a part of you, but it is not all of you. What lies behind you is far less important than what lies before you, and what lies within you. You’ve been cruel to yourself for many, many years, trying to get yourself to change -- and it hasn’t worked, has it? So try being kind to yourself for once, and see what happens. The result just might surprise you.”

Be kind to myself? Gojo says internally. I don’t even think I know how.

It’s almost funny, how his next thought is that alongside Nanami and everyone else behind the door, he thinks he actually has a shot at figuring it out.

“Nanami,” Gojo laughs breathlessly, tugging on the roots of his hair. “I think I’m going crazy.”

Nanami offers him a surprisingly warm grin. “And here I thought that happened a long time ago.”

Gojo takes a step forward. Nanami takes one back. “If you try to hug me I’m going to slap you.”

“I wasn’t gonna!” Gojo denies.

“Yes, you were.” Nanami straightens his tie. “You can’t keep this from him forever, you know.”

“I know.”

“He’s going to figure it out someday.”

“I know.”

“Everything might fall apart when he finds out the truth.”

“I know.”

“He could remember at any moment,” Nanami responds. “Are you really willing to risk that? Just to keep him happy for a little longer?”

“Yeah,” Gojo replies, without needing to consider for even a fraction of a second. “I am.”

“Fine,” Nanami replies. “Then so am I.”

Gojo looks up. “Nanamin?” A phantom of a grin traces across his lips, and he finally finds it within himself to use the nickname again. “You look up to him too, don't you?”

Nanami wraps a hand around the door handle. “Toji protects all of us from everything else,” he says, opening the door. “The least we can do is protect him from himself.”

And with that, he walks inside. Gojo plants a hand against the exterior wall, taking a few minutes to collect himself. He swivels around and leans against the railing, watching the last vestiges of a pastel twilight bleed into jewels dipped in ink. He returns to the apartment once the sun succumbs to the horizon. If it can rest for now, so can he. 

“Hey, Toji,” Gojo says as he approaches his partner, who’s currently wedged on the couch between a Divine Puppy licking his face and his hopefully future wife. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

“Uh, okay,” Toji snorts. “Not that I don’t agree with ya, but where the hell is this comin’ from?”

“I dunno,” Gojo says with a shrug. “Just felt like saying it.” 

“Well, alright.” Toji reaches over the couch and ruffles his hair, the same way he always does to his daughter. “I’m glad I didn’t kill ya either, kid.”

“Cool,” Gojo replies. “Cool.”

“Anyways, come join us,” Toji requests with a grin. “Yuuji’s about to put on some cheesy kids’ show, and I need as many people as possible to suffer with me.”

Gojo smiles back.

“Yeah. I can do that.”

----- please read author’s note below ----

Chapter Text

Nanami wishes he could say he were happier about this.

It’s not like he isn’t grateful for the way Toji and Gojo agreed to train Yuuji in less than half a heartbeat, as if the desire to protect him was already coursing through their blood; it’s the fact that any of this is even necessary in the first place, that Yuuji is doomed to face perils that could cost him his life. All Nanami can think of is that bedtime story he told Yuuji back then, how he’d rewritten death and tragedy into a wondrous fairytale, and how that curse tore down the facade of happily-ever-after to reveal the ugly truth.

He’s wielding a special grade weapon and he’s seven years old. It makes Nanami sick to his stomach.

So if he’s decided to participate in Yuuji’s training sessions himself, well. Who can blame him? 

“Nanamin, look!” Yuuji says, swinging Playful Cloud around like a helicopter, so fast Nanami is almost surprised he isn’t carried away. 

Sighing, Nanami says, “Yuuji, put that down. You’re going to destroy the house.”

“Y’know, normally Nanami’s got a stick up his ass with a vendetta against fun, but he’s actually right on this one,” Toji chimes in. Nanami pointedly decides to ignore the insult. “I didn’t let Maki use weapons until she got all her foundations solid, and you’re in the same boat, kid. Gotta learn how to paddle the canoe before ya hop onto the yacht.”

“Ha! That’s right!” Gojo declares. “That means no bullying Gojo at Bullying Gojo Club today!”

Oh, is that what this is? Perhaps Nanami should’ve joined earlier. From the title, he feels like he kind of belongs here.

“Hey, no fair!” Maki whines. “I still get to bully Gojo, right?”

Gojo scampers off and ducks behind Toji, who shoves his partner haphazardly aside. Yeah, Nanami definitely should’ve joined earlier. “Sorry, sweetheart. Since it’s Yuuji’s first lesson, we all gotta make some sacrifices.”

Yuuji shuffles to the corner of the room and sets down Playful Cloud with a frown. Nanami strides over and swipes it from the floor, tucking the weapon into his bag for safekeeping.

He zips up his bag with a huff and drops it beside the wall, kicking up against it with a slouch. Is he really--

He doesn’t even know where to start. Teaching a seven year old how to beat up monsters? Working beside an amnesiac ex-assassin with a heart of gold? Not to mention the boy who stole the children of said ex-assassin, whom he now virtually considers a father too.

When did Nanami’s life become so incredibly weird?

“Alright, little guy,” Toji begins. “Nanami told me earlier that ya seemed to already have some fightin’ experience when you fought that curse.” He crouches down in front of Yuuji. “But I know ya don’t get into scuffles every other day like Gojo’s son.”

“Hey! It’s not every other day!” Gojo denies. “Only like...twice a week!”

Nanami gulps. Gojo’s son. It’s honestly hard to tell which of the two of them Megumi resembles more. 

“Nope! That was my first time,” Yuuji says. “Or--wait, does having a dream where I was Naruto once count?”

“It doesn’t,” Nanami answers, before Toji or Gojo can cook up a stupid reply, and then his response sinks in. It’s not like Nanami had expected a kind child like Yuuji to have ever gotten into a fight before, but does he really have no experience at all? “Haven’t you ever had a gym class that taught you basic martial arts?”

When Yuuji shakes his head, Nanami’s frown deepens. “Did Maki show you, then?”

“No,” Maki replies, and the defeated look on her face is so frighteningly similar to the one he wore when he stared himself down in the bathroom mirror after failing to protect Yuuji from the world of jujutsu that Nanami feels guilty for even asking. “I...didn’t want him to be involved in that kind of stuff.”

A virtuous answer, but it only stumps him further. He pockets the sentiment for later investigation.

With similar confusion, Toji and Gojo exchange a look then turn back to Yuuji. “Okay. Since I wasn’t there, I need to gauge where you’re at.” Toji bends into a ready stance. “Come at me, kid, with all that you’ve got. Do whatever feels natural.”

“But I don’t wanna hurt you!” Yuuji protests.

Toji snorts. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”

As if asking permission, Yuuji tosses a glance over his shoulder at Nanami. Nanami sighs again and nods in confirmation.

This, apparently, gives Yuuji all the encouragement he needs to launch himself at Toji like an arrow shot by a master marksman. The air around him whistles from the needlelike force and Yuuji winds up a punch before ducking at the last second, sweeping his legs at Toji’s ankles instead. The flicker of trepidation across Toji’s face at the unexpected tactic is enough to give Yuuji the chance to aim at Toji’s chest when he’s forced to jump, and Toji’s barely able to gauge how much of his strength he needs to hold back in time to block Yuuji’s punch and shove him aside.

Yuuji is undeterred. He digs his toes into the hardwood floor through his sneakers and springs towards Toji again, stopping just short of his arm span to flip over his own head with a gyrating kick. Toji surges forwards and meets the bottom of Yuuji’s foot with his palm, blasting him off like a rocket and careening him towards the wall. Yuuji twists his heels overhead again and plants them against the wall for a suspended moment before leaping off of it, charging back at Toji.

There’s something almost calculating about the Russian roulette staccato of his punches and kicks, like he’s purposefully masking which shot will be deadly. His gaze is locked onto Toji like the crosshairs of a sniper rifle, eyes narrow and analytic as he guns after his target. Nanami wonders if his eyes were like this when they fought the chimera curse, if the tears turned them into the lenses of a magnifying glass, the determination in his bones shining a ray of focused light onto a single point and lighting it ablaze. 

Yuuji draws back his elbow and tries an uppercut at the bottom of Toji’s chin, so Toji catches his wrist and tosses him at the ceiling. Yuuji wraps his hands around the hanging light and uses its short cord to swing forwards, propelling him towards his opponent. He releases it just before the fixture can crash against the drywall, colliding with Toji’s shoulder in a hit that Toji clearly allowed to determine the force of which Yuuji is capable.

Toji swivels around again and winds up a revolving punch but Yuuji jets towards him, using Toji’s own momentum against him as he latches onto Toji’s bicep and pivot himself up and around it, releasing his arm at the peak of his rotation to aim a clever kick at the exposed part of his neck. Toji wraps a hand around Yuuji’s nearest ankle, capsizing his position, and just when it seems like Yuuji’s been trapped he takes advantage of the upside-down orientation to slam a forceful punch into the back of Toji’s knee. 

It’s ineffective, because Toji’s guard is up now, an instinct switched on that Nanami’s not sure he’s able to fully deactivate. Toji releases him and lets him escape, allowing Yuuji to fall back towards the floor and rebound with a powerful handspring frighteningly similar to that of an Olympic gymnast. Yuuji backflips into a ready position and exhales a steady breath, brows pinching in concentration.

“Okay,” Toji says, holding up his hands to indicate that his assessment is over. “What the fuck?”

Does he really need to swear? Yuuji tilts his head. “What?”

“You’ve fought before.” It’s not a question.

Yuuji fervently shakes his head. “I haven’t, though. Other than the curse that one time.”

Even Gojo seems to be matching his partner’s confusion, his sunglasses pushed a bit further down the brim of his nose to allow Six-Eyes a better glance at the boy in front of him. Maki looks decidedly less surprised. Pride is a better way to describe the expression on her face, a glint off the film of her glasses whispering a silent ‘I told you so.’

“Are you sure?” Gojo asks, like there’s a fraction of a possibility Yuuji could somehow be mistaken about something that significant. Yuuji may be many things, but surprisingly, forgetful isn’t one of them. 

“I’m sure!” Yuuji chirps, as if there isn’t a single thing odd about what he’s just done. Nanami’s less shocked, considering he watched the child attack a grade one curse with no hesitation, but that only makes him think of something else.

“Yuuji,” Nanami begins. “When we fought that curse, were you afraid?” That might explain some of the power of his movements back then, but it still wouldn’t say much about what he’s just done now.

Yuuji nods slowly. “Yeah. I was afraid.”

Beside Nanami, Gojo taps his finger on his chin, considering. “Well, at least that makes sense,” he adds. “I mean, to a kid who’s never seen one before, curses are scary stuff.”

“Wait, no. I wasn’t afraid of the curse,” Yuuji corrects. His eyes drop to the floor as he tucks his hands nervously behind his back. “I was afraid that Nanamin would die.”

Nanami clears his throat to avoid getting choked up and is entirely unsuccessful. “I see.” He walks over to Yuuji and gives him a comforting pat on the head. “Well, I didn’t die. And we’re going to ensure that you have the strength to protect yourself, too.”

“I don’t really care that much about protecting myself, though,” Yuuji replies, continuing to fidget. “I would rather focus on protecting others instead.”

A noble ideal, but also a concerning one. “Well, think of it like this,” Nanami counters. “You cannot protect others if you’re unable to protect yourself as well. There is nothing preventing you from doing both.”

Well. He should know, most of all, now. His new Binding Vow outclasses the strength of his old one by so much that it’s almost comical. 

Yuuji looks hesitant, but accepts Nanami’s words. 

His perplexity hardly dulled, Toji heaves a sigh. “Alright, kiddo. You’ve got lots of power and some decent tactics, but your basic forms are like a noodle in a blender. There’s merit to being erratic and unpredictable, but ya gotta do it properly.” He beckons Maki over. “C’mon, kid. Let’s show him.”

Watching Toji and Maki spar is less like a battle and more like a dance, with flawless, perfectly-executed motions fluid as a river through a valley basin. Toji’s form is immaculate, as expected; and perhaps Nanami should’ve expected that Maki is also in a league of her own, with physical combat skills far above those of most fully-grown sorcerers. Even Nanami has difficulty tracking their tactics, and just when he thinks he has either of them figured out, they both change it. 

If Nanami didn’t know otherwise, he truly would believe that Maki is Toji’s daughter. After his and Gojo’s initial conversation, he was eventually able to pry out of Gojo that she’s the daughter of the clan head’s brother; and the clan all believe her to be dead, save for a single member who knows the truth. When Nanami tried to ask him about that person, Gojo’s expression soured and he’d said, ‘I don’t wanna talk about that guy,’ and stormed away looking genuinely annoyed -- almost hurt, in a way Nanami didn’t want to analyze. Nanami shakes off the memory and resumes watching the spar.

Yuuji seems to have perked up again, zipping his attention back and forth as he watches his best friend show off. When they’re finished, he gives them an enthusiastic round of applause and pounces over to Maki, the two of them chattering about the choreography of the fight. Gojo and Toji whisper a few words amongst themselves then beckon Nanami over.

“Listen,” Gojo starts. “We know he trusts us, but he trusts you the most.” Nanami smiles internally. No argument there. “You’re a master of judo, right? Why don’t ya show him a few basic forms and we’ll back you up?”

Nanami can’t hold back a soft grin. “Alright. I suppose I can assist.”

The rest of the lesson goes surprisingly smoothly. Yuuji is open and attentive to constructive criticism and seems to enjoy mirroring Maki as she demonstrates the forms alongside Nanami to show him what they’re supposed to look like on someone their size. They conclude with a note that he’ll join them again in a few days, and Yuuji accepts the invitation for increased rigor without a second thought.

Nanami can’t help but feel proud of him for his achievements, but it makes him just as pleased as it does uneasy. What Nanami saw today goes far beyond mere instincts. He fought like he was designed to do it. Nanami has infinite questions and nonexistent answers. Now, he has some investigating to do.

Like always, Wasuke is still in the hospital, so when Yuuji begins to follow Nanami out, Nanami turns back around and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you spend the rest of the evening here?” he suggests.

Yuuji frowns. “But you promised you would watch One Piece with me tonight.”

Sighing, “I--I did. And we still might be able to, but I have a few errands I forgot I need to run. I’ll do my very best to return before nightfall. Is that alright?”

Yuuji still looks a little disappointed, but the negative emotion eases when Maki offers to go exploring around the neighborhood together. Nanami bids the group farewell then catches the earliest bus to the hospital.

When he arrives, his dress shoes clack against the linoleum floor as he enters and suddenly, the hospital somehow feels much smaller and much larger than he remembers it. He’s only been here a few times to drop Yuuji off to visit his grandfather; and the two of them have only exchanged a few terse words, hardly preparing him for the conversation he plans to have today. Nanami speaks to the receptionist, who shows him down the hall. Every sound echoes off the too-clean walls, but the air itself is somehow stifling. He loosens his tie. It doesn’t help. 

He pushes past the door left ajar. Wasuke is idly staring out the window, gaze transfixed on some indistinguishable point in the distance. He doesn’t acknowledge Nanami’s entrance in any way. Nanami clears his throat.

“Itadori-san.” That gets his attention, if it can even be called that. He assesses Nanami with a vague disinterestedness from his place in bed. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Oh?” he says, looking irritated that this visit is going to last more than a few seconds. “What did Yuuji do?”

“Nothing. He’s fine,” Nanami replies, annoyed that his first assumption was that his grandson did something wrong. “It’s about...Yuuji’s parents.”

Wasuke narrows his eyes. “What about Yuuji’s parents?” he grouses. His voice is rough, like it’s appalling that Nanami even dared to ask this question.

Maybe he's right. Nanami gulps. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.”

Wasuke grunts, but it sounds more bitter than furious. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, boy.”

“I want the answers,” Nanami replies, with zero hesitation.

Wasuke clicks his tongue. Nanami can never tell if the old man likes him or not. He knows he must be grateful for watching over his grandson so often, but he’s still never said it out loud. The three gruesome scars on Nanami’s chest almost eat through the fabric of his shirt like battery acid. He wonders how Wasuke would react if he knew why Nanami has them.

“You mustn’t repeat any of this to Yuuji.”

Nanami nods hesitantly. He has a feeling he’s not going to like what he’s about to hear.

“His parents were killed.”

Killed? Nanami raises a brow. He’s surprised, but probably less than he should be. “How?”

“A break-in. No suspects,” he says, but it doesn’t seem like he believes that, even as he says it. A few moments later, he adds: “At least, that’s what the police reports said.”

Nanami takes a step forward. “Would you please expand on that?”

“Calm down, boy. I’m getting there,” he snaps. “The authorities insisted against it, but I know the truth. It was that...that woman.”

“That woman?” Nanami repeats.

“Yuuji’s mother,” Wasuke spits. “They never found a body. Just enough spilled blood to make a wound of that caliber supposedly unsurvivable. I always had a bad feeling about her. I tried to warn him.” He shakes his head, sullen and weary. “She killed him. I’m sure of it. She killed my son.”

What? Nanami gulps. “What makes you so sure about that?”

“I know this will sound like the foolish drivel of an old man,” Wasuke begins, “but I don’t think she was fully human.”

Nanami just barely gulps down the bile that fills up his lungs. Combined with the claim that the mysterious curse in Shibuya knew Yuuji’s mother, this confirms it. Confirms what, Nanami isn’t sure. But he’ll need more information to find out.

“I see,” Nanami replies stiffly. “I know it’s belated, but I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Thank you for your time.”

The gratitude isn't mutual. Wasuke nods at him then goes back to staring out the window, leaving Nanami in silence for another half a minute before he exits the room.

Nanami dislikes that he has to do this, but a few well-placed calls pulling some old strings from back when he was still a sorcerer point him towards the information he wants. When a detective he used to work closely with finally reaches out to him with the location of the crime scene records and files on Yuuji’s parents, Nanami’s heart stops when he reads the address.

Jujutsu High.

It’s only the most sensitive cases whose records are kept there. Nanami swore he would never return once he stepped off campus for the last time after graduation, but for this, he can make an exception.

It takes longer to get there than he would’ve liked, considering the sun has already begun its descent upon the city, and he has to make the last leg of the trip on foot. He skips the formalities and heads straight for the medical records room, whose entrance lies at the back of the morgue. The uncomfortable location is the final deterrent for wandering offenders.

He’s about halfway across the room before he hears a door creak behind him. “Hey, Kento,” a voice says, tone light and mirthful. “Been a while, huh?”

Nanami turns around. “Shoko,” he greets. “I suppose it has.”

Shoko kicks up against a nearby table in a nonchalant pose, twirling a lock of hair absently around a finger. Out of everyone, Shoko was the one he got along with best during his three years of high school after his partner’s death. She’s easy to be around: quick-witted and laid-back, judgmental enough for it to be amusing but not enough to be combative. He always found her bluntness more refreshing than abrasive, a welcome contrast to other sorcerers who tended to shroud their true thoughts and feelings behind false grins and convoluted words. 

He’s always thought the two of them were similar, in a way -- in her he sees a familiar air of somber exhaustion, a jaded edge to her glare that finishes most conversations before they’ve even started. During high school she was by herself far more often than not, thanks to her two classmates constantly being sent on faraway missions that left her trapped between windowless walls. Since Haibara’s death made Nanami a class size of one, the two of them often ended up finding a sort of lonely camaraderie within each other. 

Which led to some...interesting, and perhaps slightly impulsive decisions that make Nanami flush a bit at the memory. It was never anything too rash, but considering Nanami’s complete and utter lack of rashness in every other aspect of his life, it’s only outdone by, well.

Virtually adopting a kid?

Shoko leans further against the table. “So what’s new with ya?”

Scratching the back of his neck, Nanami says, “Well, I sort of have a child now. It’s complicated.”

Shoko’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline as Nanami kicks himself for his thoughtless response. If Gojo heard him say something like that, Nanami would never hear the end of it. Damn. Do he and Shoko still talk regularly? He’d ask, but now he’s not sure he wants to find out.

He reaches into his pocket and turns off his phone. If Shoko catches how his background is the snapshot he took of Maki and Yuuji walking to school, he’d never be able to recover from that. 

“I’m assuming there’s a story there,” she chuckles. 

Nodding, “A long one.” 

“Wouldn’t expect anything else,” she replies. “Anyways, it’s good to see ya. Always nice to have a warm body to keep me company for once.” 

This, though, took about a year to stop catching him off-guard, the way she passes off morbid confessions like casual jokes. He took it at first for heartlessness, but later realized it’s more of a coping mechanism. 

“And yet the corpses might make better conversationalists.”

“Pfft. You’ve always undersold yourself in that department.” Shoko inspects her nails. “Heard you got into a fight recently. Sorry I wasn’t around to heal ya. Shit timing, the one time I had to be away taking medical school entrance exams.”

“It’s alright,” Nanami replies. Well, at least that confirms that she and Gojo do indeed still talk. He might be a little screwed now. “I was still able to be healed.” Mostly.

As if reading his mind, Shoko gestures towards his chest. “Hey, show me the scars. Satoru told me they’re real gnarly ones.”

Nanami sighs and loosens his tie, unbuttoning the first few buttons in his dress shirt to reveal the top two gashes across his chest. Shoko inspects it with a little more than innocent curiosity, whistling through her teeth. “Ouch.”

Shrugging, Nanami redoes his shirt. “It was worth it.”

“For the kid?” she says. Nanami nods. She really never cuts corners. “Anyways, I was surprised to learn you were hanging around Satoru so much. You two never really meshed well back in high school.”

“We still don’t,” Nanami replies, but the words don’t feel right as they leave his mouth. The corners of Shoko’s mouth lift, and he can tell she’s trying not to roll her eyes at him. He almost wishes she would just call him out on it. Rip the bandaid clean off in a single motion.

“Sure,” she hums instead. “I still think it’s hilarious you got roped into Toji’s group. Would you believe me if I told ya I’m not surprised?”

“I think I would, actually,” he responds quickly, then the weight of her words hit him. “Hold on, how do you know that Toji is alive?”

“Well, I helped Yuki patch him up back then.”

Nanami blinks. “You assisted in that?”

Shoko nods. “Course I did. Yuki’s got a lot of talent with Reverse Cursed Technique, but there’s a reason everyone comes to me for it. Toji was a special case, so those marks on his body were unavoidable, but if Satoru had waited to reattach his arm last December until I got there, I bet he could’ve avoided that nasty scar of his own.”

Alright, back up for a second. “Gojo had to reattach his arm?” Nanami repeats. “From what?!”

She leans forward. “Shit, he didn’t tell ya?” She tosses her hair over a shoulder. “Guess it’s not my story to tell.”

Not that she needs to. There’s only one person capable of landing a hit like that on Satoru Gojo that he’s seen within the past year, and that person is probably having dinner beside him and his adopted daughter right now. If anything, the close familial bond they share despite what they once did to one another is a testament to the trust they’ve built since then. 

“He’s different than I thought he would be,” Nanami says, and they both know who he’s talking about.

“So I’ve heard,” Shoko chuckles. “Satoru says you really look up to him.”

Nanami clicks his tongue. “Gojo has a big mouth,” he can’t avoid saying.

A snort. “You ever looked up to anyone before him?”

Nanami shrugs. “Not really.” 

“High honors, then.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replies. “And I hope Gojo has been honest about his similar sentiments.”

Shoko laughs again. “You kidding? He talks about that guy like he put the stars in the sky.” She shakes her head. “He really deserves someone like that in his life, though. Especially since his actual father was--”

“I know,” Nanami interrupts. He’s not sure if he could stomach discussing that. 

Shoko taps her fingernails against the table. “It’s nice seeing him like this, though. I haven’t seen him happy since Suguru--” She frowns. “Well.”

“Right,” Nanami replies. “Have you seen Getou since he left?

“Left is a generous word,” Shoko snorts. Nanami supposes that’s fair. She shakes her head again. “Nah, I haven’t. But a body came through here not too long ago. A young sorcerer. Had his residuals all over it.”

Pinching his brows, Nanami replies, “He killed them?”

“No,” Shoko murmurs. Her permanent facade of indifference cracks like a thin pane of glass. “I think he tried to save them.”

Nanami’s expression falters. “Tried?”

Shoko exhales a solemn sigh. “Tried.” 

Nanami drops his eyes to the floor. He can almost picture it: Getou slouched over the body like a priest brought to his knees, distraught over a prayer he was unable to answer. He knows the kind of trades Getou is willing to make. The lives of a nation for one sorcerer. In a twisted way, Nanami can almost understand. But if Getou is bitter, then Nanami is just numb.

The case of Suguru Getou is less evil than it is heartbreaking. Misfortune after misfortune trapped him in rising tides, drowning him in a sea of tragedy until the bloody water choked his lungs like a floodgate, and when the dam shattered he rained blind violence upon the world. Nanami can’t help but wonder if some of those curses crammed in his guts clawed their way into his soul.

“So what brings ya here?” Shoko says, punctuating the silence. 

“I’m searching for a record,” he answers. “It should be an incident under the family name ‘Itadori.’”

Hopping down, “Lemme see if I can find that for ya. Wait here.” She glances back with a playful smirk, gesturing towards the cold steel morgue table. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Nanami chooses to remain standing. He watches the seconds tick by on the cracked wall clock for lack of anything better to do, and it’s about fifteen minutes before Shoko emerges from the records room, concern wrinkled into her brows.

“Kento,” she says, stopping just short of handing him the file. “You need to prepare yourself a little for this one.”

Frowning, “It’s that gruesome?” 

Shoko contemplates for a moment before responding. “In a way.” She hands him the file, then crosses the room to give him some space to read it.

The report itself doesn’t reveal much more than Wasuke initially told him. Profile snapshots of Jin Itadori and his wife show that the two of them seemed to be relatively normal people -- Yuuji’s mother has faint stitches across the forehead that strike him as odd, but the report offers no further information about how she initially received the injury. 

Apparently the break-in happened sometime during the night, and the bodies were only discovered after a complaint from a neighbor revealed that a baby had been loudly crying nonstop for about a day. Nanami gulps again at the mental image of an infant Yuuji abandoned in his own house, his only company the empty shell of his father.

A few pages of the report appear to have been torn out -- which is surprising, considering Jujutsu High is supposedly the safest possible location for a file like this. Nanami pinches his brows, wondering what information was on them that required the file to be stored here in the first place. Is he even going to learn anything of value from it with those pages gone?

Then he flips to the pictures of the crime scene, and he can see why Shoko told him to prepare himself.

There is, indeed, a lot of blood, pooling in between the cracks of the laminated floorboards and soaking the heirloom carpet a deep maroon. There’s shattered glass littering the floor like stars, light from the broken chandelier glinting off the fractured shards. A cupboard by the staircase has been knocked over, coats and shoes mingling with matching tiny ones.

But it’s what’s on the staircase that gets him, and Nanami swears he can feel his heart physically break.

Jin Itadori’s body is splayed across the staircase, facing the direction of the top floor. Bloody fingerprints in smeared splotches mar the stairs, like he’d been dragging himself up them despite the mortal injuries, fighting against his dying body. His hand is outstretched towards the upstairs door, as if he’d been reaching out for his child in his final moments. His eyes aren’t fully closed; a lifeless gaze that should be empty is instead full of anguish, like he’d died without one last look at his reason to live. Tears stain his face in gentle tracks, clinging to his lashes, blurring soft brown irises the same color as his son’s.

Nanami drops the file back onto the table. Oh, god. He doesn’t know if he can handle this.

“He’s the father of the kid you adopted, isn’t he?” Shoko says as she returns to his side, voice heavy.

“Yeah,” Nanami croaks, not bothering to correct her assumption. “Yeah, he is.”

Shifting beside him, “Looks like he died trying to protect him.”

Unable to respond at first, Nanami can only nod. The statement is so similar to what Nanami nearly did for Yuuji too that his eyes become misty, despite himself. “It would seem so.”

Shoko notices his turmoil. “Kento,” she murmurs, gaze flicking towards his chest where the scars lie beneath his shirt. “I’m sure your son knows you would die for him too.”

Eventually, Nanami nods. “He knows.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Shoko begins. “Death is the greatest journey of all, or something like that.”

Nanami sighs. He’s seen the way Yuuji looks at him; he’s not a fool. He wonders what right he has, at eighteen years old, to try to replace a father who died with tears in his eyes, despondent that he could not protect his child. Nanami reaches over to the table, flicks the file shut with a silent promise. Perhaps Jin’s soul can rest in peace if he knows someone will protect Yuuji in his place.

He’s already had one father die for him. Nanami’s not about to make history repeat itself.

“I disagree,” Nanami replies. “Dying for something is the end of a story. The true adventure lies in living for it.”

Shoko exhales a contented breath. “I see.” They’re both silent for a few more minutes before she speaks again. “That everything you needed here today?”

Nanami tucks the file into his bag. “It is.” He zips it closed. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Yeah, of course,” she says with a faint grin. “Hey, I got accepted to medical school, by the way. But it’s all the way in Kyoto.” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “You should come visit sometime.”

There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, like always, but beneath it Nanami can almost catch a trace of something real. With both Gojo and Getou gone, and now him, he wonders if she’s ever been more lonely in her life than she is right now. It’s cold down here, it always has been. Nanami’s skin prickles with goosebumps, but hers is long since numb to it. Nanami readjusts his tie.

“Alright,” he finally replies. “I’ll visit.”

Shoko’s eyes dilate ever so slightly. “Oh,” she replies, as if she wasn’t expecting him to answer at all, much less like that. The surprise quickly melts back into her trademark casual indifference. “Right, then. I’ll look forward to it.”

Nanami offers her a curt bow before turning to leave. “As will I.”

And with that, Nanami heads out the door. He makes his way back to the apartment with an increase in haste, trying to outrun the setting sun. He succeeds, but barely. He arrives back at Maki and Toji’s apartment a hair past eight o’clock, too tired to knock before he enters. Hell, Gojo never does.

“Nanamin!” Yuuji says excitedly, hopping up from his position on the couch. Gojo is gone, presumably back home with his own children. Toji and Maki are cuddled beside one another, Maki’s hand inside a bag of chips in Toji’s arm. 

Nanami scoops him up. “Hello, Yuuji.” He props Yuuji in the crook of his elbow. “I promised you I’d do my best to arrive before sunset, didn’t I?”

Squirming, “Does that mean we can still watch One Piece together?”

Nanami readjusts his grip. He’s sat through a few episodes with Yuuji; the series has been running since 1997, apparently. For a show looking for one piece of something, Nanami feels like they really should’ve found it by now. “It does.”

The two of them bid Toji and Maki farewell then head to Nanami’s apartment. Yuuji jumps onto the couch when they arrive, flicking on the television as he wraps himself in a decorative blanket he became emotionally attached to. Nanami withdraws the futon he purchased for Yuuji after the second night he stayed here then rolls it out on the floor in his room, returning to the main area shortly after. 

As Yuuji’s concentration stays glued to the animated pirates, Nanami allows his gaze to wander to the child beside him. It’s impossible not to notice the resemblance between him and his father, the soft pink curls and eyes the color of melted brown sugar. Nanami’s chest aches at the thought of how much Yuuji’s father loved him, and Yuuji never fully knew. But what can he even say? 

Your father died for you, he wants to tell him. 

And I would too, but I swear to you that I’m not going to.

“Yuuji,” Nanami says, pausing the episode. “You are very precious to me.”

Yuuji blinks up at him. “Nanamin?”

He fluffs a pillow behind Yuuji’s head. “I just wanted to tell you that.”

Yuuji beams back. “Thank you, Nanamin! You’re precious to me too!”

He unpauses the show. Yuuji falls asleep a few minutes later, so Nanami carries him to bed after the episode ends and gently tucks him in. He makes a mental note to tell him again when the two of them wake up in the morning.

The next time he arrives at Toji’s apartment to train with Yuuji, Gojo flashes him the most disgustingly smug shit-eating grin Nanami has ever had the misfortune of witnessing, and instantly Nanami knows he’s been tattled on.

“Ready for another day of training with your son?” Gojo taunts.

Damn Shoko for being a snitch. 

-----------------------

The end of July finally arrives, beginning the most anticipated era of every academic calendar: summer vacation. Gojo’s kids are set free the same day Maki and Yuuji are, which means that the moment the final bell rings, the four of them rendezvous at the park to celebrate together. They spend the entire rest of the day in the treehouse, making up games whose rules change by the minute, playing with their stuffed animals and creating stories with their grass dolls, and chasing each other throughout the towering maze of branches in the old oak.

When Megumi somehow convinces all four of them to stubbornly refuse to come down for dinner, Toji and Gojo clamber up the ladder so the six of them can have a picnic high above the ground. Yuuji ropes both of them into joining their next activity, then the next, and when nightfall finally arrives they all tuck each other in under a blanket of stars. 

About a week into summer vacation, everyone is lounging about the kitchen and living room in various states of rest -- and she means everyone. Maki’s not sure when her and Toji’s apartment became the official homebase for their weird group, but she’s surprised at how little she minds. 

After lunch, Yuki makes an offhand comment about ice cream sandwiches that Gojo latches onto like a fish on a hook, and he tries and fails to convince each person one by one to make a trip to the grocery store for him. When he seems just about ready to throw in the towel, Tsumiki mentions how wonderful it would be to have one; Gojo sighs in defeat, but he teleports out of the apartment about half a second later. He returns in around fifteen minutes with a bag stuffed to the brim in one hand, waving a torn flyer excitedly with the other.

“Hey guys, look!” he announces. “There’s a big sale on camping supplies at the general store down the street!”

“Why would we need camping supplies?” Megumi asks, leveling his dad an uninterested glare from behind his encyclopedia on caterpillars. Yuuji, who’s perched beside him, doesn’t look up. “Come to think of it, why would you need a sale? You’re like, super rich.”

“Aw, Megumi! You mean ‘ we’re’ super rich! Anything that’s mine is yours!” he sings. “Besides, Nanamin has a whole poster of coupons!”

“I do not have a poster of coupons,” Nanami shoots back. “It’s a scrapbook.”

Uh, Maki’s pretty sure that’s worse. “Okay, but you still didn’t answer the first question,” she adds.

Rolling his eyes, Gojo says, “Uh, isn’t it obvious? I bet even Toji figured it out.”

Toji looks up from where he’s flopped on the couch beside Yuki at the mention of his name. “Oh, hey, kid. You’re back.”

“You didn’t even notice me enter?!”

“Are we going camping?” Tsumiki chimes in, before that can escalate. “That sounds like a great idea!” 

Scoffing, Nanami replies, “If your notion of a ‘great idea’ entails insect bites, lack of running water, and canned beans, then you’re unfortunately more similar to your father than I gave you credit for.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nanamin! It’ll be fun!” Gojo insists. “Y’know, the joys of nature! The wonders of the wilderness!”

Nanami scowls. “Fuck the wilderness.”

So no one’s even bothering to refrain from cursing at all anymore, huh? Guess Maki should’ve expected that from a group of sorcerers.

“Nanamin, please?” Yuuji says quietly as he slides off the couch, gazing at Nanami with puppy eyes powerful enough to obliterate a space station. “I’ve never been camping before.”

Nanami sighs, but it’s obvious he’s about one word away from caving. Yuuji one, space station zero. “You really want to sleep outside? In the dirt?”

“I love dirt!” Yuuji declares. Nanami frowns in defeat. Maki shrugs unsympathetically, because he walked into that one. 

“I guess I wouldn’t be against it,” Megumi chimes in. “Although, I kinda agree with Nanami about the canned beans thing.”

And he's right about that. Maki hadn’t even known beans came in cans until after she left the Zen’in clan. Since then, she’s decided that her first impression was also her last. “I wouldn’t mind. I haven’t been camping before, either.”

Nanami folds his arms, swiveling towards the adults of the group. Does he really expect to find another voice of reason among them? He should know better by now. “Do any of you even know how to set up a tent?”

Gojo flaps a hand. “We can just figure it out on the fly, right? Besides, I bet they come with instructions.”

“Gojo, have you ever read instructions even once in your life?”

“Pfft, no. Why would I need to?”

“Because you literally just said--” Nanami scrubs his hands against his temples, mumbling something about ‘ responsibility’ and ‘ needing to do everything myself’ that doesn’t live beyond the roof of his mouth. “Fine. Find us a list of necessary supplies.”

Yuki quirks a brow. “We can’t just buy whatever seems fancy?”

Nanami curses under his breath. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Pfft. Maki snorts. Ever the optimist. Still, it’s not like they’re forcing him to come along. When it comes to resisting his family, Nanami’s iron will caves like soggy cardboard.

Finding an adequate list takes longer than it definitely should, considering almost half the people in the room are special grade-something. It might have gone quicker if Megumi, who possesses one out of the three working brain cells in the group, hadn’t scampered off to escape the commotion. That left Maki to fill in his role of Former Zen’in With Intellectual Ability, but Yuuji is able to, admittedly easily, distract her from the task with a cool rock he found on the sidewalk.

Supply shopping takes even longer. Gojo purchases a frankly ridiculous horde of freeze-dried foods, marvelling that something like ice cream could be reduced to such a pathetic state. ‘If it’s so pathetic, why are you buying it?’ Nanami reasons. Gojo ignores him.

The next day, the eight of them pile into a limousine driven by a very tired-looking man with middle-parted black hair and glasses. He seems overwhelmed both by their sheer numbers and the level of combined power among them. The drive up the mountains is loud and long, as the vehicle climbs in elevation while it follows the path of the river. 

Once they finally arrive, Nanami is the sole person tasked with preparing the campsite, and everyone seems hellbent on making it as difficult for him as possible. Yuuji crawls all over him and giggles as Nanami has to wrench away a bottle of hand sanitizer to keep him from drinking it, and though Nanami’s words are biting, he makes no real effort to push him away. Gojo and Yuki team up to try to set up one of the tents, which somehow renders it completely unusable. Toji’s attempt to fix it makes things infinitely worse.

“You guys realize you were supposed to set the stakes first, right?” Megumi says, after the tent is beyond hope.

“You couldn’t have said that earlier?!” Toji replies.

Megumi smirks. “Well, this was way funnier.”

Maki cracks up. She likes Megumi. His quiet and reserved nature contrasts well with the brashness of her own, and she’s a big fan of his spikes of humor that pack enough punch to knock out teeth. Tsumiki reprimands him for his ability to help and lack of follow-through, but it’s obvious she’s holding back a laugh too. 

Somehow, Nanami is able to work his magic and salvage it, though the tarp roof juts out at an odd angle. “We’re just gonna be sleeping under it, so it’s no big deal, right?” Gojo says as he unfurls his sleeping bag, because Nanami insisted that all the work be completed before any fun could be had.

“Then you’d be fine taking that tent?” Megumi asks deviously.

“Well, I’m tall, so it wouldn’t work,” Gojo tries to argue, but Toji smacks him upside the head.

After rummaging through her pack for a few seconds, Yuki gasps with surprise that doesn’t seem totally genuine. “Oh no! I forgot my sleeping bag!” she frets. “Toji, do you think we could sleep togeth--”

“Don’t worry. I brought an extra,” Nanami interrupts.

Yuki’s shoulders sag with something strangely like disappointment. “Wow, thanks.”

Off to the side, Toji squeezes his fists. Why does he look so frustrated? Trying to fit two people into such a tight sleeping bag seems like it would be pretty uncomfortable.

Nanami hands Yuki the sleeping bag, and she trudges off to her tent with a frown. 

During the final stages of unpacking, Toji jabs a finger at a spray can when Nanami withdraws it from his supply pack. “Hey, do ya think that pest repellant would work on Gojo?”

Nanami carefully inspects the label, as if he genuinely might find the answer to Toji’s question on it. “Hmm, I’m not sure. We should test it and find out.”

Subsequently, Nanami shakes the can in earnest, casually approaching Gojo as he removes the cap. “Hang on, you can’t be serious--” Gojo starts, but Nanami points the can in his direction and presses down on the nozzle before he can finish his sentence. 

“Blegh!” Gojo makes a sound of disgust and teleports a short distance away to the safety of a nearby pine, clinging to the trunk for dear life like a cat stuck in a tree. Well, at least that answers Toji’s question. “You guys both suck! What’s in that stuff?! It tastes like nail polish remover mixed with laundry detergent!”

“Fuck, again?!” Toji shouts. “How would you know what that tastes like?!”

“I already told ya!” Gojo squawks from above. “High school was wild!” 

Toji groans. “Remind me to never let you near the supply closet.”

Gojo opens his mouth to reply so Maki zips away, not wanting to hear the continuation of that impending squabble. Once Nanami has finished setting it up, she pads over to the kids’ tent, where Megumi and Tsumiki eagerly watch as Yuuji pokes at a nebulous gooey substance with a long stick. “Do you guys want to explore?” she suggests.

Yuuji hops up, accidentally flinging some goo into the air. Megumi dodges it a little less than gracefully. “Yeah! I can hear the river from here!”

The four of them skip past the main campsite towards the sound of running water, bubbling against snapping twigs and smooth rocks on its journey to the valley. The river here isn’t as wide as it is near her apartment; but the water is much clearer, like liquid glass mixed with sapphire ink. In the air is the cool taste of crisp mountain runoff from fresh rain and melted snow. The riverbank is crowded with lush greenery, and the mud is more like mulch, decaying leaves and remnants of fauna packed into the silt. A chorus of chirping birds echoes throughout the area, and the creatures flit overhead in improvised, lively dances.

“Wow! It’s so pretty!” Tsumiki exclaims, an afternoon breeze rustling through her ponytail. Yuuji barrels past her and splashes into the river with a happy shout.

“It’s freezing!” Megumi says as he pokes the outermost waves with the tip of a finger. Yuuji sloshes over to him and outstretches his hand. Megumi eyes it cautiously.

“C’mon, Megumi!” Yuuji says. “Let’s wade in together! We can go super slow so you get used to the temperature.”

Megumi reaches towards Yuuji’s hand hesitantly and tenses in surprise when Yuuji closes the rest of the distance to clasp their fingers together. But he doesn’t let go, and instead allows himself to be led further into the river, until the water reaches mid-calf. 

Then Megumi shivers, his fingers tightening between Yuuji’s. Yuuji releases his hand, and Megumi looks a bit disappointed for a moment -- until Yuuji tugs off his signature yellow hoodie and holds it out for him.

“I’m not cold, so you should wear this instead,” he offers. Megumi blinks back at him.

“Are you sure?” he says in a small voice.

“Just take it,” Maki encourages as she shreds off her shoes and socks. “His base body temperature is like, a million degrees. I’m surprised the water hasn’t started boiling around him yet.”

Yuuji nods fervently, holding the hoodie out closer to him. Megumi thanks him and accepts, pulling the plush jacket over his head. “Thanks,” Megumi mumbles as he looks away. “I’m warm now.”

“Awesome!” Yuuji beams as a spray of mist soaks his shoulder. After another beat, Tsumiki joins Maki at the edge of the water, the two of them plodding in towards the boys.

Maki crouches down near the surface and fishes her hand along the riverbed. “Have you guys ever skipped stones before?”

“I haven’t,” Megumi replies. He picks up a large, round pebble. “How do you do it?”

“You need a flat rock,” Maki instructs as he discards his initial pick. The closest thing the Zen’in compound had to a river was an artificial stream; sometimes she’d get away with hiding there for hours, passing the time in content solitude before a cruel reality yanked her back. “Something with a lot of surface area, and light. You should throw it at the water as horizontally as possible, like a frisbee, and then hopefully it’ll skip.” 

She demonstrates with the first decent rock she finds. The stone tumbles atop the surface six times before sinking with a gentle plunk.

“I wanna try!” Yuuji says, then he slam-dunks the rock into the center of the river like a basketball. “Oh, it didn’t work.”

“Uh--try like this,” Megumi instructs, imitating Maki’s motions. His attempt is about half as successful as hers, which is still an impressive first try. 

Tsumiki eventually finds a suitable stone and tosses it against the water like a discus. The stone finishes nearly an entire game of hopscotch before succumbing to the depths. “Kind of like that?”

A round of applause from Yuuji. “Whoa, you’re great at that!”

The four of them continue their attempts for a while longer. Maki eventually beats Tsumiki’s record, but Tsumiki remains in a close second the rest of their game. Once their feet have all gone numb, they head back to the riverbank and gather into a clump.

“Megumi, y’know what? You should bring out your dogs!” Tsumiki suggests.

Megumi perks up at the idea. “Okay.” He forms the sign with his hands. “Divine Dogs!”

The two puppies hop up from the shadows, yapping excitedly at the sight of both their trainer and the beautiful surroundings. Megumi squats down and scratches under their chins and between their ears, earning him a bark of delight from each of them.

“Oh, I meant to ask you this before. What are their names?” Yuuji says as he withdraws his own cursed glasses from his pocket and puts them on. Maki’s honestly impressed he remembered to bring them.

Megumi looks up as the black puppy licks some river water off his knee. “Taiyo and Tsuki.”

Sun and Moon. Maki smiles as she pets the white puppy’s head. “Hello, Taiyo.”

“That’s Tsuki,” Megumi corrects. Maki can’t help but grin wider at that. A white puppy named Moon, and a black puppy named Sun? That’s more creative than she would’ve guessed.

Maki and Yuuji let the dogs pounce all over them for a few minutes as Megumi watches them play. Tsumiki looks on with a gentle grin, and it’s then Maki recalls that she can’t actually see them.

She wonders if Tsumiki ever has.

Maki pushes to her feet, raising a hand to the red frames propped on her face. She slides them off with a slow exhale and extends them to the girl beside her. “Put these on,” she says. “You’ll be able to see them.”

Tsumiki’s eyes dilate in surprise. “You don’t mind?” 

“Of course not,” Maki says with a friendly smile. “Besides, they’re your brother’s best friends. I’m sure they want to be your friend, too.”

Tsumiki gingerly accepts the glasses and slips them onto her face, blinking to adjust to the magnification. She takes a deep breath then looks up, and her breath visibly catches in her throat.

“Wow! They’re so cute!” she beams, and dampness wells quickly behind her lenses as the puppies presumably notice for the first time that she can see them too. If she closes her eyes, Maki can almost picture how the two of them must be yipping with glee as they tackle her to the ground, licking the saltwater off her face as she laughs with joy. 

“Maki, c’mere!” Yuuji says as he pulls off his glasses. He holds them arm-length in front of him as he beckons her over. “We can share if we both look at them through here!”

Maki makes her way to Yuuji’s side and the two of them gaze on at the two puppies together, tangling their paws in Tsumiki’s hair as they wag their tails hard enough to kick up a small breeze. “I bet we can ask Yuki to get you a pair, too,” Maki says. “You don’t have to wear them all the time like me, but if you ever want to play with Taiyo and Tsuki then you’ll be able to.”

“Really?! I would love that!” Tsumiki replies. Maki resolves to ask Yuki about it later. Tsumiki rises to her feet with a sigh and begins to take off the glasses, but Maki holds up a hand to stop her.

“You should just keep ‘em for the evening,” Maki says. “You have a lot more lost time to make up with the puppies than I do.”

Tsumiki turns away and sniffles, then looks back at Maki with a grateful expression. “Thank you so much!”

Warmth swells within her. Maki glances through Yuuji’s glasses one final time at the puppies following Tsumiki around like magnets, then Yuuji slips the glasses back onto his face. Megumi and Maki lock eyes and a faint grin traces across Megumi’s features before he stands up and turns towards the group.

“So what now?” he asks.

“Oh! How about hide and seek?” Yuuji says.

They all voice their agreement at the idea. Tsumiki offers to be ‘it’ first, but Maki thinks it’s just a flimsy excuse to walk around with the dogs longer. Not that she’d call her out on it.

Maki darts off as Tsumiki begins counting, navigating through the woods in the surrounding area. There’s a tall tree with a dense maze of branches that should serve as a perfect hideaway, and she’s just about tucked into it when Megumi scrambles up beside her.

“Megumi!” she hisses. “We’re not supposed to hide in the same place!”

“I know,” Megumi replies. “But I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Maki pouts. He’s going to make them both lose this round, but she’s curious now. “Well, go on.”

Megumi draws in a deep breath before continuing. “Can you tell me about the Zen’in clan?”

In response, Maki frowns. She knew he would ask this eventually, but did it really have to be when they’re five meters above the ground? “What do you want to know?”

Megumi fidgets in place. “Are they really as bad as Satoru says they are?”

“Yes,” Maki answers immediately. “They’re probably worse.”

She’d go into further depth if she wasn’t tiptoeing around the fact that she spent most of her life with them instead of Toji. Megumi still flinches. “He said they don’t treat girls very well.”

Maki sets her jaw. “Yeah, he was right.”

In response, Megumi snaps off a twig and starts scratching at the bark with it. “He said they only love people with strong techniques.”

Maki’s sure Gojo didn’t mean it like that, but she still feels the need to correct him. “No. They don’t love. They use.” She shakes her head. “But I don’t think Gojo cares about your technique at all. I think he just loves you because you’re you.”

Without looking up, “Well, it’s good that neither you or I are with them,” he responds. “I wouldn’t wanna be treated like a king. It sounds kind of annoying. And…” his voice trails off. “I think I’d miss Satoru’s shitty breakfasts too much.” He shoots her a feisty glance. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Maki snorts. Like he even had to say it out loud. He’s more attached to Gojo than a starfish to a fishtank. 

“I won’t tell him,” Maki hums, “but you should.”

Megumi flushes, and Maki chooses not to share how ridiculously long it took for her to admit something like that to Toji. Even if she were in Megumi’s place, she knows she also wouldn’t trade Toji’s burnt toast for anything in the world.

“One more thing,” Megumi says. “If you don’t have a technique, why do you want to be a sorcerer?”

Maki’s knee-jerk reaction is to be offended, but it does seem like he’s just genuinely curious. “Well, at first it was because I wanted to spite the Zen’in clan,” she begins. “But...I’ve been thinking about that less and less, lately. I never used to care if my actions would save anyone, but I have things I want to protect now.” She curls her knees to her chest. “I want to become strong enough to choose what to do with my strength.”

Then, Megumi examines her through a fan of dark lashes. Maki still hasn’t decided whether or not he’s difficult to read; every time she becomes certain she can tell what he’s thinking he’ll do the opposite of what she expects. At first she’d thought him aloof, when a closer word is guarded. When he rustles in his spot, Maki thinks he’s finally going to climb down and pick a damn hiding spot of his own, but then he says:

“I think we might be the same.”

Maki blinks. A few years ago, if a Ten Shadows user said that to her, she doesn’t know if she would’ve laughed or cried. But in the end, what’s the difference between being locked in an ivory tower or the bottom of a dungeon? Each is equally trapped behind bars. They’re both parts of the same castle, but they’re both their own type of prison. Thanks to Toji and Gojo, she and Megumi have gained the freedom to discover that strength and being a child aren’t mutually exclusive, and that ultimately, strength isn’t the most important thing of all. And so because of that, she replies:

“Yeah. I think so, too.”

Then, silence. Megumi opens his mouth to reply but then his brows pinch together in irritation as he drops his gaze to the forest floor. “Tsumiki! That’s cheating to use them to sniff us out!” He readjusts his grip on the twig in his hands and throws it towards the river. “Tsuki! Taiyo! Go get it!”

“Hey, come back!” Tsumiki says as she runs off in the direction the dogs must have gone. Maki and Megumi slide down the trunk then land beside each other, and Maki shoots Megumi a playful smirk.

“Go find your own spot this time!”

Once they’ve all tired themselves out and returned to the campsite, Maki is pleasantly surprised to find a campfire already lit, a warm orange glow illuminating the clearing as forked flames lap at the chilly evening air. The fire crackles as it eats through the kindling, filling the area with the smell of light smoke and burning cedar. 

“Yo, kiddos! Perfect timing!” Yuki says as she holds out four matching sticks. “You ready to make s’mores?”

“You bet!” Maki says as she and Yuuji bolt over, with Megumi and Tsumiki in tow. She skewers three marshmallows then plops down on a log beside Toji.

“Hey, sweetheart. Did ya have fun?” he says softly. He ruffles her hair, only belatedly realizing that his fingers are tacky with marshmallow gunk when it sticks in her strands. He offers her a sheepish grin. “Uh. Sorry.”

“Pfft.” Maki waits long enough for her marshmallows to partially melt before flinging one at his shirt. “Now we’re even.”

They laugh at that together, and she huddles into his side for warmth as he wraps a blanket around them. Yuki sits beside her, and Maki lifts up the edge of the blanket so she can join them. Megumi and Nanami stare intently at the fire as they roast their marshmallows with a methodical rotation, as if there’s somehow an optimal way to do this. The two of them insist that there is, but Maki’s too impatient to care.

“Guys! You know you’re supposed to sing songs around the campfire, right?” Gojo begins. “Kumba--”

As if all sharing the same thought, everyone collectively chucks their half-eaten smores at Gojo to prevent him from singing. It takes a lot more effort than it definitely should to convince him to give everyone their marshmallow sticks back, and even then Toji has to resort to bribery with an extra chocolate bar.

“Ha! Megumi! What’d I tell ya? Sometimes bribery is the best way!” Gojo says as he triumphantly takes a bite out of the jumbo-sized chocolate bar.

Yuuji sneezes on his marshmallows, then opens his mouth to eat anyways. “Ew, what are you doing?” Tsumiki objects.

“What? It’s fine!” Yuuji tells her. “Toji-ji said that boogers have protein!”

Frowning, Megumi adds, “Uh, I’m pretty sure he was making that up.”

“Oh, I totally wasn’t,” Toji deadpans. Maki nods, because in situations like this she thinks she’s legally obligated to back him up. 

Yuuji pouts but discards his marshmallows anyways, scurrying off to find something new. When he returns, it’s with a concerningly vivid assortment of wild mushrooms impaled on the stick. Nanami scowls and tries to take it away.

“Nanamin!” Yuuji protests.

“This is for your own good,” Nanami explains. “Colorful often implies a mushroom is poisonous.”

“But in candy, colorful usually means it’s mystery flavor.”

Nanami pries the mushroom kebab from Yuuji’s grasp. “Let’s keep it a mystery.”

Then Nanami tosses the mushrooms into the fire. The flame burns green for a second. Yeah, that can’t be good. “Nice call,” Maki commends.

Nanami nods in acknowledgment as Yuuji sulks. Still, perhaps Nanami’s scolding would’ve held a more lasting effect if he didn’t immediately start preparing another marshmallow stick for Yuuji.

“Anyways,” Gojo begins. “If we can’t sing, can we at least tell spooky stories?”

“Nanamin told me a great story once!” Yuuji chirps. “He told me about an unlikely partnership between a regular man and a good man! There was once kind man, too. And the good man had a daughter, a brave little girl! And a beautiful queen saved the good man, and the regular man adopted two lost children! It was the best story ever!” He kicks his feet back and forth against the log. “So maybe Nanamin could tell another story about them?”

Toji and Gojo exchange glances before Toji’s lips tug into a smirk, so wide the scar at the side of his mouth stretches into a smile of its own. “Why don’t ya share your source material for that one?”

Nanami flushes and turns up his nose. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Not exactly a puzzler. Maki snickers. She wants to make fun of him for that, but something unexpectedly warm stirs in her chest at the idea of it. 

“Oh, I have one!” Yuki announces. “It’s about a man with such a bad fashion sense that he drove everyone he knew to insanity!”

Gojo bristles. “Is that supposed to be about me?!”

Megumi hums in agreement, without looking up from the steady ivory drip of his marshmallow melting into the fire. “I feel like the fact that you know it’s about you really says a lot.”

Gojo accidentally-on-purpose bumps into his son, causing his marshmallow to fall into the fire. Megumi makes a sound of offense and hurls the remaining marshmallows at him, only to be stopped by Limitless as Gojo cackles.

As the final curtain closes over daylight and the night stars take center stage, they all point towards the glittering constellations, tracing patterns in the sky that change depending on the artist. Yuuji swears he sees Divine Dogs prancing among the heavens, and Tsumiki claims there’s a whale swimming in the ozone. Maki and Megumi exchange glances, and for once she can tell exactly what he’s thinking: who even needs the Zen’in clan, when they already have the perfect family?

-----------------------

Once Toji is finally able to convince the children to maybe, probably, possibly, hopefully go to sleep and ushers them into their tent, he’s just about ready to head into his own when he catches Gojo wandering off, hands shoved into his pockets. He doesn’t appear to be looking where he’s going; lost in thought, it seems. When he’s about to disappear from view, Toji pads after him.

“Oi, kid! Where are ya goin’?” Toji calls. He catches up to him when Gojo’s already at the riverbank, plopped on a log facing the water and gazing out at the sparkling waves. Toji sits beside him.

“Oh, hey,” Gojo mumbles, as if there’s nothing weird about how he’s acting at all, and Toji’s never had anything against peace and quiet but as soon as he realized the kid clams up when he’s sad it suddenly became his least favorite thing in the world.

“Somethin’ on your mind?” Toji asks. 

Gojo furrows his brows, readjusting the sunglasses to cover more of his face. “I got a message from my clan a few days ago,” he mutters. “They want me to come back and be head of the clan.”

Toji blinks. “Well, what’d ya say?”

“I told them to fuck off,” Gojo spits. “But they’re insisting it’s not that simple. They just keep spouting more bullshit about having a duty to the jujutsu world, blah blah blah.”

Folding his arms, “Well, it’s not like they can make ya do it, right?”

“More or less,” Gojo wavers, which really tells Toji nothing at all. He can’t even pretend to understand any of those complex clan politics. “But I get why they think it’s important. It’s just…” He exhales a contemplative sigh, fixing his stare on the indigo horizon. “If I were head of the clan, I’d miss stuff like this. Being outside, being with the kids. Having one last shred of freedom. I know it’s supposed to be my responsibility, but-- fuck, I hate responsibility. I don’t want anything to change.” He glances at Toji from the corners of his eyes. “What do you think, Toji? Should I be head of the clan?”

Toji awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I dunno, kid. That’s probably something you should ask your fath--”

“My father’s dead.” Gojo cuts him off, in such a flat and detached tone that it sends Toji reeling. “He beat me when I was six, so my clan head had him executed. Isn’t that something?”

Toji has to grind his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping. “What?”

“The last time someone was born with both the Six-Eyes and Limitless cursed techniques was 400 years ago,” Gojo begins. “But she was killed less than one month after she was born. My clan decided they couldn’t let that happen again. And that meant, no matter how big or how small, every threat to me had to be instantly eliminated.” A vacant gaze meets Toji’s own. “Every threat.”

Toji saws through every rung of his ribcage just to find it within himself to speak. “Kid--”

“They didn’t even tell me until afterwards,” Gojo continues, voice grating and hoarse, like something reached into his throat and tore the life out of him. “They thought I’d be happy that they killed him. They expected me to thank them.”

Toji tries to reply, but he searches and searches and can't find his own voice; he can't even find any breath in his lungs. He can barely even think any coherent thoughts other than oh my fucking god, but Gojo doesn’t seem to notice. 

It actually doesn’t look like he’s noticing much of anything. Toji wonders how much of him is present anymore, if at all, because while his physical body is still beside him Gojo’s consciousness feels far away. Toji’s true specialty is reading sorcerers, but it’s like he’s sitting next to an empty shell. 

“I didn’t really know what I was supposed to feel,” Gojo admits. “I think not knowing what I was supposed to feel kind of fucked up my chances of feeling anything. I thought that maybe I was supposed to cry, but I didn’t. I didn’t shed even a single tear. But my best friend--” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “The guy who was my best friend back then cried a lot, though. He was a total crybaby when we were kids. His dad would always hit him for that.” Gojo huffs out a laugh that’s horribly empty. “Guess the clan head can’t axe you for smacking the heir if you are the clan head, huh?”

It’s then Gojo finally notices the way Toji is looking at him. Like he’s vulnerable, like he’s something that needs to be protected. Gojo recoils away instinctively, and Toji can’t tell if it’s an instinct he was born with or one he was forced to learn. “It’s no big deal, though,” he says, trying to casually shake his head, but it only further gives away just how badly he’s shivering. “I barely even remember him--”

“That’s a lie.”

Gojo’s withdrawn expression cracks. “Yeah,” he exhales. “That’s a lie.”

A few moments of silence pass. “What was he like?” Toji asks.

“Distant,” Gojo replies. “He didn’t have an innate technique, so he wasn’t allowed to see me much in the first place. But when he did, I always got the feeling that he’d rather be anywhere else. I think he resented me.” He scrubs a hand against his forehead. “He would never look me in the eyes.”

The eyes. All six of them. Only two visible, but Toji can feel the other four watching him carefully from somewhere past the great beyond. Gojo’s eyes are like ice on a good day, but now Toji feels like he’s staring into the cosmic void at absolute zero. 

“Anyways, my mom ditched the clan after that,” Gojo tells him. “She blamed me for it, or something. Said it was my fault.”

Toji swallows hard. “But it wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

“I mean, it kinda was,” Gojo says with a shrug. “If I wasn’t born like this, then it never would have happened.”

Toji swears he can feel a stake literally plunge into his heart. “You think it’s your fault for being born?”

Gojo’s breath audibly snags in his lungs, and it’s clear that the way he knows he should answer the question versus the way he wants to are two entirely different things. “It’s fine. I got over it a long time ago,” he chokes out. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It really is fine.”

Toji’s pretty sure that’s the least fine thing to happen to a human being in the history of ever. For lack of a better way to put it, he settles on: “No, it’s not fine.” He locks eyes with Gojo. “You’re not fine, are you?”

Eye contact is no longer a possibility. Gojo gulps and whips his head away. “Fuck--okay, we need to stop. If we keep talking about this I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Alright,” Toji murmurs. “Then cry. Let it out, kid. I’m right here.”

And it doesn’t happen quickly -- it’s slow, creeping, as Toji’s words sink in and bleed into the hollow parts Gojo had to carve within his core, but once the first tear breaks free, that’s it. The rest follow as if crashing through a shattered dam, decimating the last barrier in his graveyard heart. Toji wraps an arm around Gojo as his shoulders start to shake, first like a leaf in a breeze, then like branches snapping in a thunderstorm. 

It's quiet, like he always is when he's upset, but sporadic little gasps slip through the gaps between his teeth where he's biting his lips hard enough to break the skin. Tracks of tears dampen the pocket on Toji’s shirt, drenching the soft cotton with patches of saltwater. Toji reaches onto Gojo’s face and gently slips off his sunglasses, placing them in front of him on the river’s shoreline.

Toji has to squeeze his own eyes shut to blink back the emotion pricking at them. Just how much has Gojo’s strength made him lose? All Toji knows is that it’s so much more than he’s ever gained. And in this moment Toji thinks power is a horrible thing, the way it sorts people into categories of worth based on how brutally they can kill things. Gojo’s ability to destroy shouldn’t be what gives him the approval to live. Not when it takes away everything precious about living in the first place.

“I’ll say it every day if I have to,” Toji whispers. “I’ll always be there to watch over you. I swear.”

That makes Gojo cry harder, so Toji pulls him closer into his shoulder. He holds him for a while like that, as his sobs calm to sniffles. Once he’s all cried out and his breathing evens to a steady rhythm, Gojo finally speaks again.

“Hey, Toji. Wanna hear a fun fact?” he croaks. He glances at Toji from where he’s resting against his shoulder. “I actually hate the color blue.”

And it’s all Toji can see as he stares into his eyes, blue like the river, like the sky, like a bright and blinding nebula after the death of a star. Like melting glaciers collapsing into the ocean in the heat of a sweltering summer, like the rings of a frigid planet far out in the solar system. Cold, unlike him, who soaks in warmth like he needs it to survive, like he’ll freeze to death if left alone for too long. And he was. He was left alone for too long.

“I see,” Toji replies. “Then what’s the opposite of blue?”

“Uh, I don’t have the color wheel memorized. I think it’s orange?”

“Great. Then your favorite color’s orange.”

Gojo blinks up at him. “It is?”

Toji kicks back against the riverbank. “Yup. I just decided.”

So maybe they can start with this. Tiny defiances against what he was born with, small victories that prove he’s something other than his eyes. 

Because Satoru Gojo isn’t the Six-Eyes. 

Satoru Gojo isn’t Limitless. 

Satoru Gojo isn’t blue. 

Toji lets his lashes flutter shut, and makes a mental note to buy him orange everything when they get back home.

A few minutes later, soft footsteps pad over to them, stopping once they reach the two of them on the log.

“Hey, Gojo,” Maki says, hair loose around her shoulders and hands behind her back. “Are you alright?”

Gojo peers up at her. “Huh?”

“I just...I heard you crying,” she murmurs. “I don’t think anyone else did. I think it’s because of my heightened senses. I--here.” She unclasps her arms and holds out a s’more like a peace offering. “Sorry it took me a while to come over, but I had to figure out how to restart the fire. I thought something sweet might cheer you up.”

Gojo’s sight wells with moisture again, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand to keep the teardrops from falling. “Thanks, Maki,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, of course,” she says with a soft grin. “I told you that you could be my big brother, remember?”

And this is what makes Toji the most proud of all. Not her strength, nor her ability to fight like him, but her compassion, how she’s grown from distant and closed-off to openly caring without restraint. This is how he wants to raise her. He wants to raise her to be kind.

Gojo offers half of his s’more to Maki, and the two of them giggle with joy as she smears the marshmallow on Gojo’s cheeks, and his expression breaks into a bright and honest smile despite the tears on his face -- and fuck, Toji’s not sure how much longer he can stay in denial that he has two kids now. Toji heaves a deep sigh, watching as Maki drags Gojo to the river in a feigned attempt to clean off the marshmallow that eventually devolves into a splash fight. 

The last time Toji felt this level of content tranquility was right before Gojo tore through his life like a hurricane, forcing him to restructure everything in his world and build something entirely new from the wreckage. But there’s no way something like that could happen again. There’s tension on the distant horizon with that curse the kids met in Shibuya, but other than that, it should be smooth sailing for quite a while.

Besides, it’s not like there’s someone else like Gojo out there.

Right?

Chapter Text

Toji’s not sure when Bullying Gojo Club turned into Bullying Gojo and Nanami Club, but it’s probably one of the best things to ever happen in his life.

At least, that’s what he thinks as Yuuji chases Gojo around with one of the wooden staffs, trying to flick off his sunglasses in a ‘training exercise’ Toji gave him because he thought it’d be funny. Which he was right about, by the way. Out of breath is an understatement as Maki spars with Nanami, dodging kicks that barely miss his way-too-expensive tie, which he should not have worn to training if he didn’t want Toji to cause problems on purpose.

“Alright, switch it up,” Toji declares, granting the two targets a brief moment of reprieve. Gojo lets out an audible sigh of relief and Nanami dusts off his shoulders, wiping a track of sweat from the back of his neck.

Maki flits over to Gojo and starts bouncing weights off Limitless. Toji sighs.

“Hey, kids,” he says to the two of them, and fine, maybe he did just put them both in the same category but Maki already called Gojo her big brother so Toji doesn’t really feel like there’s much of a point in continuing to lie to himself. “Chill out. You’re gonna put a crack in the floor.” Well, more cracks. Admittedly, it already looks like a window hit by a baseball. 

Off to the side, Nanami pulls Playful Cloud out of reach as Yuuji hops up to grab it from him.

“It’s called Playful Cloud, right?” Yuuji whines. “So why can’t I play with it?”

Nanami frowns as he jerks it away again. “Well, think of it like this. Would you play with a knife that was called ‘Friendly Flower’?”

Yuuji nods. “Yes.”

Pfft. Yeah, that was a bad example.

“Aw, let him play with it!” Gojo insists. He prods Maki on the shoulder then the two of them nod with a silent agreement -- and hey, when did the two of them start being able to communicate without words? Toji feels like he might be doomed now. Maki tosses Gojo a thumbs up, then they both flash Nanami puppy-eyes wide enough to swallow a skyscraper. 

“Oh, no. I’m not falling for this again.” Nanami folds his arms, tucking Playful Cloud into his elbow. He meets Toji’s gaze with a look Toji could almost call pleading, and he seems like he might almost ask for backup on this one if he didn’t have so much damn pride. 

Toji smirks. “Just say the word, kid.”

Heh. Nanami scowls harder. This is one thing he’ll admit they have in common, even if their brands of stubborn each come in different bitter flavors.

When Nanami remains silent, Toji jabs a finger in his direction. “Go get him, Maki.”

Maki springs forwards. Just as her fingertips brush the outermost edge of the staff’s third section, Nanami’s grip firms on the opposite end and he uses its momentum to pirouette himself out of reach. Undeterred, Maki leaps off the hardwood and vaults overhead -- so Nanami tugs each end of the staff in opposite directions until it’s taut in his hands, and the moment it seems like she might succeed he collides the middle section with her falling foot and launches her into the ceiling like a bottle rocket.

Clever boy. Not for the first time, Toji wonders what that fight with the curse in the mountains was like. 

Well, musings about Nanami’s tactical intellect will have to come later. Or never, unless Toji wants to get a headache. He knows his own battle instincts are unrivaled, but he’s pretty sure Nanami’s would involve multi-step division. Which, thanks to Maki’s recent attempt at asking him for homework help, he now knows that he can’t do.

But he can do this. “Listen up, kiddos,” he says. Yuuji and Maki turn around. So does Gojo, and Toji’s not gonna think too hard on that one. Like always. “I’m gonna teach ya how to disarm a sorcerer today. A sorcerer’s weapon of choice is often very deliberate -- you can learn a lot about ‘em by what they use to fight, and you can learn even more about how to win if ya take it away. Here. Watch me.” He cracks his back and swivels towards Nanami. “Do everything ya can to keep me from takin’ that thing.”

Nanami steadies his posture and drops into a guarded stance. He gives Toji a nod of readiness.

To Nanami’s credit, it’s a valiant effort. While most sorcerers’ first instincts would be to turn away and run, Nanami fully faces him in a pose sturdy as steel beams. Toji can almost feel a target physically being painted on the weakest part of his stitched chest, but that’s the opening he needs that Nanami doesn’t know he just gave him. 

His technique is seven-three, right? Flip that on its head, and you get the exact counter point needed to turn that precision against him.

Hey, maybe Toji can do division.

Toji darts through the unintended gap created by his confrontation, swiping Playful Cloud from his grasp in a single swift motion.

Excited, Yuuji cheers, then looks mildly disappointed when Toji doesn’t give him Playful Cloud to toy around with. He chucks it to Maki instead. Maki hands it to Gojo, who hands it to Yuuji. Why does Toji even bother?

Nanami taps Toji on the shoulder. “You figured it out,” he says, lips downturned.

“Duh,” Toji replies. “Every sorcerer has a weakness.”

Maki hops over to Gojo and tries to steal his sunglasses. That turns into a squabble Toji decidedly ignores until his daughter calls, “Then what’s Gojo’s weakness?” 

Gojo cackles as he teleports onto the ceiling and perches in the corner like a spider. 

Annoyed, Maki thrusts her hands to her hips. “Hey, no fair!” She whips her head over her shoulder and pads over to Toji, pointedly refusing to turn around even when Gojo returns to her side. “Does he even have one?!”

He hesitates, Toji thinks immediately. He’ll always remember that seizing moment during their third and final fight, right before it ended: how Gojo’s entire body had petrified when Toji declared that he’d never let his last act be leaving his child in Gojo’s care. 

From what he recently learned about the way Gojo’s clan had treated him growing up, it’s not tough to figure out why. Gojo was taught -- or, more like forced -- to suppress his true emotions so hard that with a well-timed shock he freezes up, despite clearly understanding he should be doing anything else. Like he’s standing on train tracks as one barrels towards him, and knowing that he should get away, must get away, but his body suddenly forgets how to move. 

Even Nanami is looking at Toji expectantly, like he hasn’t been able to parse the answer yet himself. Toji’s sure he’s seen Gojo fight before -- they were classmates, after all -- but he’s willing to bet Nanami never saw Gojo fight something that was a genuine threat to him, and he’s certainly never seen him fight for his life. Toji wonders if anyone other than himself ever has. He’s got a weird feeling he can’t quite explain that the answer is yes, but he couldn’t say who even if his own life depended on it.

“‘Course he has a weakness. He’s only human, after all,” Toji says, and the words come out much softer and warmer than he’d expected them to. “Oi, write this down. No matter how hard ya train or how strong ya get, you’re never gonna be perfect, but that’s okay. It’s okay to have weaknesses, as long as you have someone beside ya who can cover for ‘em. And for him, that’s me.” Gojo is staring at him with eyes like saucers, so Toji chuckles and ruffles his hair. Gojo doesn’t protest. He doesn’t even move at all. “I’m his partner, remember? It’s my job to protect him, even if it’s from himself.”

“I see,” Maki replies with a gentle grin. She prods Gojo playfully on the side without glancing away from Toji, and Limitless doesn’t try to stop her. Maki tilts her head. “Then what’s his weakness?”

“Hey, I’m not just gonna hand ya all the answers.” He flicks his daughter on the forehead affectionately.  “That’s for me to know and you to figure out.”

“So what’s your weakness?” Yuuji chimes in, ignoring Toji’s comment.

Overconfidence, Toji answers internally. He has sufficient self-awareness to know that, not to mention he remembers just enough about his second fight with Gojo to know that was the nail in the coffin for him. And sometimes I let my instincts get the best of me.

He can control them when he’s training with the kids, but he wonders if he’d be able to manage it in the heat of a real fight. Still, he can’t really think of any situation in which he’d even need to hold back, so it’s probably nothing he ever has to worry about.

Probably.

“He has shit taste in fashion,” Gojo responds.

“He can’t spell,” Nanami adds.

“He snores really loud,” Maki concludes.

Toji drags a hand down his face and sighs.

“Yeah, love you guys too.”

A few days later, Toji and Gojo receive a mission to exorcise a curse that took down a group of civilians and the sorcerer sent to save them. “It has a unique way of petrifying its victims,” Toji’s least-favorite higher-up had said; not that he likes any of them, but this guy’s long beard, columns of ear piercings, and skin saggy enough to beat gravity really give him the creeps.

When they arrive at the scene, there’s nothing there. Toji senses a faint energy in the distance, but its energy fluctuates in unpredictable ebbs and swells, and it seems to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. Toji and Gojo exchange apprehensive glances.

“I’ll check the building,” Toji suggests. “You stay here in the courtyard. Let’s meet in five minutes if neither of us have found anything.”

Gojo nods in agreement. Toji jogs over to the office, abandoned save for violent patches of dried blood painted on the walls and floor. There are vestiges of the curse’s energy, but each spot he checks is inconsistent, like it had a different shape and size every time it attacked a new victim. Premonition churns in his stomach.

A flare of energy surges in the courtyard. Toji drops the investigation and bolts out to where he’d left the kid outside.

Standing before Gojo is a man Toji doesn’t recognize. He has kind eyes, if a little tired, with glossy jet-black hair tied back into a neat bun, and at first all Toji really thinks is, bangs. They dust his left lashes in a loose, uneven tendril, out of place on his otherwise symmetrical face. He carries himself with a gentle grace, and he doesn’t walk towards Gojo as much as he does glide towards him, carried by invisible wings that are almost angelic -- which is kind of concerning, because it means some crucial part of his spirit is already dead.

“Satoru,” the transformed curse says, its sonorous voice resonating throughout the landscape in sinister waves. It has a melodious, hypnotic quality, smooth and fluid like autumn rain. “I’ve missed you.”

Gojo’s breathing halts. He freezes. He hesitates. “...Suguru?”

The curse continues to approach Gojo slowly, pausing as it stops before him to remove his sunglasses from his face in a motion that’s strangely tender. It leans in towards him as if it’s about to kiss him, and Toji swears he can feel the exact moment Limitless flickers off so the replica of the man can pull him closer.

“Kid! What the hell are you waiting for?!” Toji thunders. “Fucking kill it!”

It’s not real. It’s not real, and they both know it’s not real, but Gojo is looking at the curse’s cruel illusion as if killing even a poor imitation of this man would also kill a precious part of himself.

Gojo raises a hand to kill it anyway. 

A protective feeling surges within Toji like a solar flare. Gojo has suffered enough. And in this moment he can’t even deny that he has fatherly instincts towards the kid, because he’d rather suffer every day for the rest of his life if it meant Gojo didn’t have to.

Before Gojo can finish whispering, “I’m sorry,” to the curse, Toji commands, “Gojo, close your eyes!” He slams a heel into the dusty concrete and it crumbles behind him in a lateral crack. “Don’t look!”

Gojo slams his eyes shut. The curse locks focus on Toji, glaring at him with an expression halfway between heartbroken and hateful. A flicker of confusion traces through him, but he’s not one to hesitate like Gojo does. So Toji raises his weapon high above his head, bringing it down on the curse with a vengeful deadly force backed by all of his might, and then it’s over.

Toji’s head pangs with an agonizing ache, weirdly close to déjà vu. Far too close for comfort. Who the hell is this man?

The curse transforms back into its original appearance before disappearing, dissipating into the midnight. 

Then Gojo reopens his eyes, stares at the empty space in front of him with something dangerously close to disappointment. When he finally looks at Toji, his features are tormented. He hasn't seen Gojo look at him like this since their fight, like he was about to take something he loved away from him.

It’s gone in less than a second.

“Who was that supposed to be?” Toji asks, after the silence has stretched on about ten minutes too long.

The silence continues for another five. Gojo picks up his sunglasses from the ground and slips them back onto his face, then in a voice far below a whisper, he responds,

“My one and only.”

It takes a while for Gojo to stop looking so catatonic. He’s quiet all the way back to his place, because there’s no way in heaven or hell Toji was gonna make him get home all alone. No teleporting today, it seems. He sticks to Toji’s side like glue, like a lifeline. 

Gojo punches in the code to his penthouse without saying a word. Toji follows him inside. The house is quiet, his kids are undoubtedly asleep. He trudges into his room in silence, and any other day Toji would tease him for the framed zebra poster above his bed, but today he’ll let him off the hook. Just this once.

Gracelessly, Gojo flops onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling, his sunglasses slipping lopsidedly from his face. Toji props up against the doorway.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, and he vaguely recalls Gojo laughing in his face when he asked that same question on their first mission after the kid made a depressing offhand comment about his childhood best friend. 

He gets a different answer this time.

“Yeah,” Gojo responds. “Yeah, I do wanna talk about it.”

After another beat, Gojo pushes back to his feet. He strolls over to his closet, pulling a nondescript shoebox off the highest shelf. He places it beside him, curls his knees to his chest.

“Was Suguru--” That was what Gojo called the transformed curse, right? “--your boyfriend?” Toji guesses.

Gojo shrugs. “Not exactly.”

Huh? Toji furrows his brows. “Where is he?”

Gojo exhales a deep breath. “Gone.”

Shit. Toji’s confusion melts into a frown. “Like, gone gone?”

Gojo shakes his head. “I mean, he’s alive.” A short pause. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Toji repeats.

“It’s complicated,” Gojo replies. Yeah, Toji kinda figured. “He’s not around here anymore. He left me.” Gojo flinches. “Uh, word choice. Just...left, I guess.”

Toji’s frown deepens. “Did ya have feelings for him?” Gojo nods. Damn, that sucks. “Were they reciprocated?”

“Dunno.” Gojo drops his gaze to the floor. “We kissed, though. Just once, about a week before he left. He said he had something important to tell me, and I said I had something important to tell him, and then neither of us ended up saying anything at all.” Gojo cards a hand through his windswept hair. “At the time, I thought he was gonna tell me he felt the same way I do. But now...I’m not sure.” He shifts his stare to the ceiling. “He knows how I feel about him, but he still left.”

“Feel? So you’re still…”

“Like, super in love with him?” Gojo laughs. “Yup.”

Toji shifts, leans further back against the door frame. He knits his brows in concentration, and he knows the kid trusts him a whole fucking lot but it almost feels invasive, seeing him wear his bleeding heart right on his sleeve like this. Or maybe invasive isn’t the best way to describe it. 

An honor?

“So...why did he leave?”

Gojo sighs. “Homicide.”

Whatever Toji was expecting, it sure as hell wasn’t that. “Uh. What?”

In response, Gojo waves a hand in a way that Toji assumes was supposed to be nonchalant, but instead it just appears stumbling. “Let’s just say...he’s not the biggest fan of non-sorcerers.”

Wow, he sounds like a real keeper. “No offense, kid--” Toji begins, and okay, maybe a little bit of offense, “--but why the hell would you even fall for a guy like that?”

“Well, he wasn’t always that way,” Gojo replies. Defensive, as if that somehow makes the outcome a little less true. Makes his victims a little less dead. “We were classmates. Best friends.” He shakes his head again. “We totally didn’t get along at first. We had opposing ideals, so we’d argue about everything, all the time.” He smiles to himself, but it’s broken at the edges. “And after spending all that time together, we ended up realizing we were friends.”

Toji folds his arms. “What was he like?” he asks, and remembers asking Gojo this question about his father. Someone else who’s gone, someone else who only exists in his life in the past tense.

“Kind,” Gojo answers. “And patient. And--strong. I never once beat him in close combat without using my technique. Protective, of sorcerers, of the weak, of his fellow students, of, of--” He swallows hard. “Of me.”

Toji can’t decide if that makes him hate Suguru more or less. He hadn’t even realized he already hates him until now. But what else could he possibly feel towards someone who made Gojo feel like this? “He understood you?”

“For a while,” Gojo sighs. “He knew everything about me.”

But he still left. Toji clenches his fists. “What changed?”

Gojo flinches, like he was hoping Toji wouldn’t ask that. He didn’t think the kid’s expression could get any emptier, but here they are. “There were things he failed to protect,” Gojo murmurs. “And I think it killed something inside him. Something important.” 

“I see,” Toji says. 

Gojo finally reaches towards the shoebox beside him. There’s a layer of dust on top of it, as if it hasn’t been touched in years. He flips off the lid, rummages around inside. Toji walks over to the edge of the bed and sits beside him.

There are more items inside the box, but Gojo’s first pick is a stack of old notes -- passed during class, Toji presumes. The handwriting is too neat to be Gojo’s. The kid flips through them.

‘You should’ve seen Yaga’s face in class yesterday. Tried to get a picture, but something was lost in translation. Guess you had to be there. So be here next time, idiot! LOL’

‘Hey, I missed you last week. You were gone for way too long.’

‘Satoru, there’s some stuff I have to talk to you about. Are you free after class?’

‘Ahh…it’s alright. No, I understand. Good luck on the mission.’

“I should've seen it coming. There were so many signs.” Gojo rests the notes in his lap. “For someone with the Six-Eyes, I sure was blind.”

Toji can’t deny that it’s a little tragic. Gojo returns the notes to the box, pulling out a photo album. He opens to the first page. 

It’s a picture of three kids. Gojo is one of them, and fuck, he looks so young. Suguru is beside him, leveling him a disapproving glare that’s too amused at the edges to be genuine. A girl stands off to the side with just a hint of a grin, like a smile drove past her on the street. Toji’s only seen that girl twice -- Shoko, if he’s remembering correctly.

Gojo turns to the next page. Suguru and Gojo are sprawled out on the couch in awkward positions no human should be in, Gojo upside-down over the back of it and Suguru flopped over the armrest like a wet cat. There’s junk food everywhere, and they’re both holding some electronic game Toji doesn’t recognize, Gojo pointing an accusatory finger at his former best friend while Suguru beams with victorious laughter. 

With a melancholy look, Gojo turns the page again. It’s a big group of kids now, at what appears to be some sort of festival, one of them with ridiculous emo hair, and-- “Holy shit, is that Nanami?”

Gojo snorts. “Yeah. Can’t believe he changed it before you met him. Kind of a shame.”

Yeah, feels like a missed teasing opportunity. There’s a kid with a brown bowl cut beside Nanami, holding takoyaki with a bright smile. Lantern light is cast half over Suguru’s form, slicing the emerald fabric of his yukata below where his long hair hangs loose over his broad shoulders. He’s staring at some point in the distance, but Gojo is looking at him like -- okay, that’s lovestruck. Toji never expected the kid to be subtle.

On the next page is a picture of all five of them at karaoke. Gojo is on center stage singing his heart out, Nanami’s head is in his hands. Bowl-cut kid is cheering. Shoko seems to be mid-cackle. Suguru is watching Gojo with a soft smile, but there’s something off about it. He seems weirdly tired.

Next is a polaroid of Gojo and Suguru at a petting zoo. Suguru’s face is sour while Gojo is cracking up. Toji points at Suguru’s frown. “Why does he seem so pissed off?”

“A goat bit him on the hand,” Gojo chuckles. “At the time, I thought it was hilarious that animals always hated him. I think they could smell all of the death inside him. Some deep-rooted instinct, or whatever.” Gojo’s expression falters. “Which kinda sucked, because he really loved cats.”

 “Yeah, that does suck, I guess.” Toji pauses. “Wait, whaddya mean ‘death inside him’?”

Gojo winces, and he can tell the kid is grappling with how much he wants to tell him. “Had to do with his cursed technique.”

That piques Toji’s curiosity, but now feels like the wrong time to press.

The picture after that makes Toji’s guts twist a little. There are only four kids now, at a pumpkin patch. Nanami’s expression seems distant. Suguru’s smile seems forced, as if he had to slap it on like a sticker to cover up something else. He’s lost weight, without it being replaced by muscle. Gojo is clinging to him tightly, like he’d be reluctant to let go, as if this is the first time they’ve spent with each other in a while.

Eventually, Gojo closes the album. His eyes are dry, like he has no tears left to cry.

In the corner of the box is a bunch of crumpled papers. Gojo eyes them hesitantly, as if they’re somehow the worst thing in the box. It almost surprises Toji when he reaches towards them anyway, unfolding the first one.

‘Suguru,

Hey, I really like you. You’re neat. You’re like a Pokémon. Gotta catch ‘em all!

-Satoru’

Toji jabs at the paper. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“Uh...scrapped confession letter,” Gojo says, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not good with words.”

Yeah, no shit. Gojo unfolds the next one.

‘Suguru,

Are you Pop Rocks? Because I have a crush on you. Be my boyfriend. You’re so great I can’t even think straight when I’m around you. Ha, well, not ‘straight.’ See, this is the kind of top-notch humor you’d get if you dated me. Go out with me!

-Satoru’

Toji frowns at the note. Gojo uncrumples the one beside it.

‘Suguru, 

I want to smack your ass every day for the rest of my life. Please date me? I’ll give you 300 yen.

-Satoru’

Toji quirks a brow and taps on the note with a dubious expression. “What the hell?”

In defense, Gojo flails his arms. “I already said I’m not good with words!”

There’s one more note in the box. It isn’t crumpled; instead, it’s folded neatly, though there are dried teardrops and smudges on the outside. 

“Ah, this one,” Gojo says quietly. “I wrote this one after I kissed him. Stayed up all night to finish it, then got called away on a mission before I had the chance to give it to him.” He heaves a sigh. “Never got another chance after that.”

‘Suguru--

Whoa, I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s been three years before I even knew it, isn’t that crazy? It felt way shorter and way longer at the same time, I think. Oh, well. Three years is what it’s been, so that’s that, I guess.

Anyways, you’ll get a kick outta this. I was talking with Shoko not too long ago, and she asked me what I would do if I knew today was my last day on earth.

And aside from listen to all my favorite songs and laugh at all my favorite movies, because of course I’d do that, something else came to mind that I just can’t shake.

This one, I didn’t say out loud, but what came to mind...was you. 

If today was my last day on earth, I’d want to finally tell you that I’m in love with you.

Hey, do you remember that one day back in second year? It was a horrible rainstorm and we were on the way back from a mission when you found a bunch of kittens stuck in the rain. You carried them all to the safety of a nearby porch, even though every single one of them scratched the hell out of you. Ha, that was hilarious. 

But the joke was on me, because in that moment I realized how I felt -- how I feel -- about you, but I think I felt that way even before that. It’s you, it’s always been you, and it will be you forever. 

I want you so bad it’s driving me crazy. You’re so beautiful I forget how to breathe sometimes. You are everything good about this ugly earth. You’re every wish I never even knew I had come true. You are light itself. 

If there’s such a thing as a precious person, mine is you. You made me realize that dreaming at night is kinda pointless, because I already have everything I could ever want and more right beside me. Still, I think I’d feel better about the whole sleeping thing if I got to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life.

You made me believe in justice. I want to save the world with you. Please let me protect that righteous heart of yours. 

Thank you for showing me that meaning means something. Thank you for making me not alone.

My one and only. 

Be with me.

I love you. 

-Satoru’

...uh, who isn’t good with words?

Toji stares at the note for a few seconds longer, and he wants to say ‘ Oh my god, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read in my entire life, I didn’t know it was possible for a piece of paper to reach into my chest and touch my soul’ but instead all he can manage is:

“Holy shit, kid,” Toji croaks, clutching the letter in his hands. “This is really fuckin’ gay.”

Despite everything, Gojo barks out a laugh. “I know, right?” He returns the letters to the shoebox, closes the lid. “Sometimes I wonder if he would be better at this than me. It would be great to have his help with the kids. I appreciate Utahime, but I know she wants to have a family of her own someday, a partner she can boss around.” Gojo drags his fingers over the old cardboard. “If things hadn’t changed, I bet they’d all have loved him. I miss him, Toji. I miss him a lot.”

Damn. Toji wants to be sad for the kid, but most of him just feels furious. He can’t say he isn’t curious about the specifics of Suguru’s spiral and if there’s really no hope for him anymore, but how could someone who knows everything Gojo has been through possibly abandon him? It just doesn't compute in Toji’s mind; an equation with no answer, and it’s not even because he sucks at math. He knows he can get a little overprotective, but honestly? 

If he ever meets Suguru, Toji kind of wants to sock him in the face for hurting Gojo like this.

-----------------------

Summer vacation flies by before Maki knows it. She spends the long days with Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki, causing mischief and playing in the sun. She never thought she’d have any close friends other than Yuuji, but Gojo’s kids fit in her life like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t even known she was missing.

A week before summer vacation ends, Toji receives a letter with a list of school supplies Maki will need for the rest of the year. Maki insists she’s perfectly capable of going school supply shopping on her own, but Toji vehemently disagrees. She tries to protest, but when he argues that he’s already missed out on a lot of firsts in her life and wants to make it up to her, she caves. 

It’s not like this is something she could’ve ever done with her biological father. Partially because she wasn’t allowed to go to school, partially because no one ever gave her anything, but mostly because he hated her guts.

Toji carries the list into the store like it’s an acceptance speech for an award. When he hoists Maki up into the cart to push her around the store -- which she’s way too old for, in her opinion -- she doesn’t fight it.

“I can’t believe I only have a week left of vacation,” Maki says, leaning her head back against the cart as Toji ferries her through the aisles. 

“Hey, ya like school though, don’t ya?” he prompts, handing her a notebook.

“Yeah, I guess,” Maki admits. She supposes she does miss her other school acquaintances. ‘Queen of the Playground’ is a title she grew into very quickly. “But still, it’s been fun to have so much free time and so few responsibilities.”

Toji pokes her ponytail. “Oi, your most important responsibility is to have an awesome childhood,” he says, passing her a box of glitter pens. “And this is part of bein’ a kid.”

Dubiously, Maki quirks a brow at the glitter pens. “Uh. This specifically?”

“Huh? Ya wanna have boring notes?” He waves them in her face. “Don’t you wanna code your subjects by color? I bet your teacher would be impressed with how organized you are.”

Maki snorts. “Is Nanami rubbing off on you?” 

“Oh, fuck.” He drops the pens in the cart beside her. “Don’t ya dare tell him about this. I’ll never be able to live it down.”

Heh. Maki cackles and decides she’ll tell Gojo. It’ll get back to Nanami that way, because she’s pretty sure Gojo couldn’t keep a secret like this if it were glued to his pockets.

She grabs several erasers, highlighters, and a pack of index cards as Toji navigates them through the store. He honestly seems to be more invested in it than she is, as he pulls down a pair of scissors with scalloped edges and reads the label with a weird sort of fascination. When Maki pauses to reread the list, Toji seems distracted by a contraption nearby. 

He holds it up and presents it to her with a perplexed expression. “Do you need this?”

Maki squints at it. “Is that a label maker?”

Shrugging, “Hell if I know.” He puts it in the cart. “Bet you can figure out somethin’ fun to do with it, though.”

At the end of the electronics section is an extravagant display, advertising all-new laptop computers in shining pearl white. Toji must catch her staring, because he pauses in front of it and grabs one of the boxes.

“Want one?”

Maki’s breath hitches. “Really? Of course I--” she starts, but then she cuts herself off. “I mean, they’re kind of expensive.”

Unconvinced, Toji levels her a look. “Seriously, kid?” He places the box on the ground for a second. “Do ya honestly think I care about money when it comes to you?”

Maki smiles to herself. “I guess not.”

So Toji puts the computer in the cart. She thanks him with a hug when they check out at the register, and she beams the entire bus ride home.

Once they arrive, Maki and Toji set up the label maker. It takes them a lot longer than it definitely should, but in her and Toji’s defense, the instructions came with diagrams only, each part labeled by number. Searching up instructions on her new computer is surprisingly unhelpful. 

But they finally manage to succeed, just before Gojo and his kids arrive for dinner. She greets Gojo at the door by smacking a label that reads ‘#1 Idiot’ on his hot pink sweater.

Gojo peers down at the label. “Aw, number one? Thanks, Maki!”

Maki opens her mouth to retort back, but Megumi waves her off. “Don’t even bother. It’s like throwing cotton balls at a brick wall.” His eyes land on her new computer. “Whoa, you have a laptop now too?”

Too? She didn’t know Megumi had one, either; then again, he’s not exactly one to show off. Maki pads over to the device with Megumi and Tsumiki in tow, then opens the computer to pull up one of the games that came pre-installed.

“You know you can change your background from the default one, right?” Megumi notes.

“Mine is a unicorn!” Tsumiki chimes in.

“I know,” Maki replies, even though it was really just a guess. She gestures towards the sparkling ocean shoreline spread across her screen. “But this one isn’t so bad.”

“Do you like the beach?” Tsumiki asks.

“Uh...I don’t know,” Maki grumbles. “I’ve never been.”

Toji overhears that.

The entire group is at the beach a day later.

Once they all meet there, Nanami stares at Gojo’s fashion tragedy with an expression that seems genuinely offended. Maki can’t even blame him. The neon orange shirt and shorts, combined with dolphin floaties and swimming flippers, really are a painful combination.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Nanami says with a scowl. “You look like the bastard child of a knockoff Naruto and a flattened traffic cone.”

“Thank you!”

“How could you possibly take that as a compliment?”

Gojo waves him off. “I can’t help it!” he declares with a grin. “Orange is my very favorite color!”

Off to the side, Toji breaks into a smile bright enough to bring shame to the blazing August sun. 

They find a semi-isolated stretch of beach; it isn’t terribly busy today, despite the beautiful weather. It’s probably for the best, Maki thinks, after Nanami has carefully removed and folded his shirt to reveal those scars that make it look like he was mauled by a mountain lion. Maki doesn’t mind non-sorcerers, but it’d be tough to come up with a convincing lie to explain that to them.

...although, Maki finds herself in a state of confusion after Toji and Gojo have changed into their own swimming attire. There are angry red lines around each of their left shoulders, so eerily similar that they almost seem like a matching set. A chunk of Toji’s torso seems to have been blasted off only to be desperately patched back together by a seamstress with a deadline. How has she never seen this before now?

Maki clears her throat, preparing to point towards the strange scars on Toji and Gojo’s upper bodies. “Hey, guys, what are those--”

Before she can finish her sentence, Yuuji chucks a beachball at her. It bounces off her shoulder, only to hit Nanami in the face. “C’mon, Maki! Let’s go play!” 

“Hey, sunscreen first,” Yuki says as she shakes the bottle. When Megumi protests, a gust of wind carries the aerosol into his mouth. His sounds of disgust buy her enough time to coat him in the spray as Gojo cackles.

“She’s just looking out for you!” Tsumiki explains as Megumi scowls. 

“It’s cold,” he complains. “Tsuki and Taiyo would never betray me like this.”

“Oh! That reminds me,” Yuki says, reaching into her bag. She withdraws a pair of glasses with cherry red heart-shaped lenses and passes them to Tsumiki. “For you, kiddo.”

Then Megumi’s annoyance falls away all at once, replaced by a gentle grin as he watches his sister excitedly receive the glasses and put them on in earnest. “Can I see your dogs again?” she asks him.

Megumi finishes his hand signs before she even finishes her sentence. The two puppies manifest from the crevices in the sand and bark happily as they realize their location, chasing each other around and kicking up dust-devils as they prance about on the shoreline. Once they notice Tsumiki can see them again, they bolt towards her and tackle her into the shallow waves.

“Ten Shadows really is awesome!” Yuuji says after he puts on his own glasses, watching as Megumi tosses a stick for them. “Do you have any other animals too?”

“Not yet,” Megumi replies. “But I’m hoping to tame some more soon. There are some rabbits I’ve been thinking of going for next.”

“Rabbits?” Maki repeats. “Can you even fight with rabbits?”

“There are...strategic uses!” Megumi defends, but it’s a flimsy excuse at best. Just admit that they’re cute and move on, Maki chuckles to herself.

Tsuki and Taiyo’s fur become tacky with seawater, sand sticking to them in patchy clumps. They bound over to Nanami, seeking affection, and when they shake off their pelts sand gets all over him. He sighs and grabs a towel from nearby, muttering the least convincing scolding Maki has ever heard as he wipes the puppies dry.

After that, Megumi calls for his dogs, but they both curl up beside Nanami as he reclines in a beach chair. Megumi mumbles something about them being traitors, then the four kids go back to playing in the waves.

“Hey, Maki,” Gojo says as he flops over to her in those ridiculous flippers, after she’s returned to the beach blanket setup for a brief rest. “Let’s play a prank on Toji.”

Maki perks up. “Go on.”

He holds up a plastic shovel and a towel. “If we dig a hole in the sand and place the towel over it, he’ll totally eat it when he tries to sit down.”

Sometimes Gojo actually has good ideas. But only sometimes. Maki hops to her feet. “Let’s do it!”

The two of them dig a hole in the sand in earnest as Toji chases Megumi around in the waves, and why does Gojo look like he’s about to cry? He shakes it off a moment later and Maki spreads the towel over their ditch, the two of them smoothing out the corners to form an innocuous facade.

“And now we wait,” he instructs. Maki returns to the shore to dig for seashells with Yuuji as they bide their time. Gojo picks up a hermit crab and hands it to Tsumiki, who builds it a throne of pebbles nearby. Yuki sits beside Nanami and a puppy crawls into her lap, promptly falling back asleep when warmed by the summer rays.

When Toji arrives back at their spot on the beach, he glares first at the towel, then at Maki and Gojo. “Really, guys?”

Maki freezes. “We’ve been caught,” she whispers to Gojo.

“What are you talking about?” Gojo replies, ignoring her while he blinks innocently at Toji.

Unimpressed, Toji folds his arms. “Alright, kid.” He jabs a finger at Gojo. “You sit here.”

Gojo gulps. “Fine! I’ll prove to you there’s nothing wrong with it!”

He struts over and stands in the center of the towel.

“Turn off Limitless,” Toji deadpans.

Gojo twitches. “But if I do, I’ll get a sunburn.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works,” Megumi chimes in.

“You deserve this,” Nanami adds.

“I can sit there if you don’t want to!” Tsumiki offers.

“No!” Gojo insists, far too quickly. He clears his throat. “Uh, I mean, this is just such a perfect spot that I want it all for myself.”

Yuki snorts and pats the space beside her on the towel. “I can share with ya,” she says to Toji.

In response, Toji reddens. Strange, he put on sunscreen, so he shouldn’t be getting burned. “Oh, sure. Yup. Okay, I’ll be right there.” He plops down beside her under the shade of the umbrella.

In any case, why is Yuki drooling at Toji? She hasn’t even gotten any food yet. Toji is staring equally hard at her skimpy bikini, and mumbles something under his breath that sounds like, “Fuck, there are children present.”

A few seconds later, Maki hears soft crunching noises beside her. She looks up just in time to see Nanami sigh.

“Yuuji, please stop eating the sand.”

“But I dropped my snack in it!”

Gojo blinks down at him. “Does it taste good?”

Shoving to his feet, Toji shouts, “I swear to god, kid, if you eat the fuckin’ sand--”

“I wasn’t gonna!” Gojo denies, but Maki doesn’t miss how he releases the fistful of sand he was hiding behind his back. The forbidden snack sifts through his fingertips and returns to its rightful place on the shoreline. 

“Why don’t we have a sandcastle contest?” Tsumiki proposes, as the final grain finally slips from her dad’s fingers. “Yuuji, do you want to partner up with me?”

“That sounds awesome!” Yuuji agrees, shuffling over to her. 

Yuki turns her attention towards Gojo. “How about it, kid? Join forces with me.”

Gojo pumps his fist in the air. “Hell yeah! Let’s destroy some children!”

Judgmentally, Nanami folds his arms. “Word choice, Gojo.”

Gojo thrusts his hands to his hips. “I know what I said.”

As usual, Nanami sighs, grumbling something about needing a competent partner if he’s going to win this under his breath. “Megumi. Would you like to work together?” he offers.

Megumi seems relieved at this development. Tsuki and Taiyo hop after him and patiently wag their tails as he and Nanami find an empty patch of beach nearby.

Maki grins. She’s glad all the partnerships worked out like this, because it means she gets to stick with who would’ve been her first choice anyway.

“You ready to wreck ‘em, sweetheart?” Toji says. 

She hops over to him. “I was born ready!”

Yeah, the contest goes about as well as you’d expect. Twenty minutes later, Maki and Toji’s sandcastle is taller than both of them, but the dry sand at the top crumbles onto them with each passing breeze. Yuuji and Tsumiki decorate theirs with sticks and pebbles that weigh it down, barely reaching the height of their knees. Yuki and Gojo can’t seem to agree on a shape for it, and end up building two sandcastles in competition with each other.

But Megumi and Nanami’s castle looks like it could win a medal. Megumi looks at the disastrous others with a frown.

“Should we help them?” he asks Nanami.

Nanami shakes his head. “No. They did this to themselves.”

“Nanamin!” Gojo whines. “You’re supposed to be a good influence!”

“I am being a good influence.”

Once they’ve all tired themselves out, Gojo checks the time on his phone with wide eyes. “Oh, shit.” He shows Megumi and Tsumiki his screen. “Don’t we have to go back so you can finish your summer homework?”

Megumi pouts. “No.”

“You put it off for the whole summer?” Nanami says with a disapproving look. 

“Satoru said he would help me!”

Did he? Maki quirks a brow. That seems like it’d go about as smoothly as Toji trying to help her with long division. 

Nanami scrubs his temples in slow circles. “I suppose I can help.”

“Yay!” Tsumiki cheers. Tsuki and Taiyo pounce to her side. “Thank you!”

“I think I also gotta hit it,” Yuki says. “I’m heading to Moscow tomorrow.”

“Let’s teleport back!” Gojo suggests. “Y’know, as thanks for giving me a ride on your motorcycle.”

“Teleporting made me dizzy,” Yuuji recalls. Yeah, not helpful for convincing her to do it.

Yuki frowns. “Fine.”

Pleading, Maki turns to Toji. “Can we stay a little longer?” she asks. Yuuji nods fervently beside her.

“Sure, kiddo,” Toji agrees. 

Once the others have gone, Toji flops back on a beach chair and closes his eyes. Maki and Yuuji dart around in the sand until they’re a considerable distance from Toji, and then something catches her eye.

Beside a vacant food stall are two girls that appear to be around the same age as she and Yuuji. They each have blunt-cut hair that reaches around the same length on their chests; but while one is a deep chestnut brown, the other is strawberry blonde. They’re wearing matching summer dresses, woven with airy and flowing layers of chiffon, and even from this distance Maki can tell it’s an expensive material. They must have a parent that spoils them, too.

“Hey!” Yuuji calls, before Maki can inspect them closer. “Do you guys wanna play with us?”

The girls stop chattering amongst themselves to shoot Maki and Yuuji a dirty look as they approach the food stall. Maki balks; it’s been a while since anyone looked at her like that. Like she’s worthless, like she’s something that’s beneath them. More annoyed than offended, Maki tugs on Yuuji’s wrist to leave, but then the blonde speaks up.

“Our dad told us to stay away from people like you,” she sneers.

“Strangers?” Yuuji guesses. “We’re not strangers! My name is Yuuji Itadori and my favorite animal is a tiger!”

“No,” the brunette replies, and even though Yuuji is taller than her she’s staring at him like a dog at a flea. “Monkeys.”

“Oh, I like monkeys too!” Yuuji replies. “Although, my favorite animal is still a tiger.”

Maki’s eyes widen. Monkeys?

Even if her own memory were wiped clean like Toji’s, she’d never be able to forget that insult, what the Zen’in clan called her more than her own name. And that’s the only clue she needs -- she takes a deep breath and reaches out with her senses, ready to investigate what’s rapidly becoming more than a hunch. 

And discovers she was right. Their cursed energy is each unmistakably that of a sorcerer. It’s modest, undeveloped, as if they could get far stronger but haven’t started training yet. It’s closed off, guarded, defensive in a way that makes her wonder if it was once the only thing that kept them alive. It fills Maki’s tongue with a bitter taste and clouds her mind with hatred that isn’t her own. 

“You’re sorcerers,” she states, and the reaction is instant. Both girls recoil away, antagonism spiking in their auras.

“There’s nothing wrong with that!” the blonde snaps. “You’re the one who’s--”

“I never said there was anything wrong with it,” Maki interrupts. Though she never bought into it, the Zen’in clan always tried to convince her it was the other way around. “Why would there be?”

The girls both clam up at that. The brunette grabs her sister’s hand, trying to pull her away. “We should go find him,” she says quietly, and Maki wonders who she’s talking about.

“Whoa, you’re sorcerers?” Yuuji suddenly interjects. Maki knows him well enough to know when he’s actually being clueless and when he’s trying to counter negativity with all-consuming compassion; this is the latter, though the girls are looking at him like they think he’s an idiot. Maki resists the urge to act on the irritation that stirs within her. “That’s so cool! What are your names?”

“Why would we tell you that?” the blonde replies.

But Maki’s curious now, even if it’s almost entirely out of spite. “Tell ya what,” Maki begins. “Why don’t you two spar with us? If we win, you have to tell us your names.”

The brunette seems hesitant, but grows bolder when she sees that her sister is more than up to the challenge. “You’re on!”

The blonde girl withdraws a camera phone from her bag, flipping it open with a determined face. The brunette tugs out a bear with a rope around its neck and tugs on it hard as she whips towards Yuuji.

Maki and Yuuji exchange a confident glance, and it’s like she can read his mind. They’re fortunate Toji’s recent lesson was on disarming sorcerers.

Every sorcerer has a weakness.

Maki bolts towards the blonde. If her technique involves using her cell phone, then the most critical part of her success would lie in her fingers and wrist. As she desperately tries to lock her camera on Maki’s sprinting form, Maki launches off the sand, plants her feet against the wooden walls of the food stall, and snatches the phone from the girl’s grasp as she backflips over her head.

It’s over in maybe three seconds. Beside Maki, Yuuji is plopped down in the sand, hugging the other girl’s teddy bear. The brunette is squeezing her fists, annoyed.

“So,” Maki says, flipping the phone shut. “My name is Maki. Who’re you?”

“I’m Nanako Getou,” the blonde grumbles. She gestures towards the girl beside her. “And this is my sister, Mimiko.”

“Nice to meet you!” Yuuji says, waving the toy bear’s hand to greet them. This only serves to make Mimiko look even angrier.

“Don’t be so proud of yourselves,” Nanako snaps. “Our dad hasn’t taught us how to fight yet. He said that for a few years, he wants to do all of the fighting for us.”

“Yeah!” Mimiko declares. “Besides, our dad could beat up your dad!”

Maki snorts. “I seriously doubt that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Nanako snaps. “He’s the strongest.”

“Nanako!” Mimiko scolds, jabbing her sister with her elbow. “You know he doesn’t like it when you say that.”

“But it’s true!” Nanako insists. 

Almost as if on cue, Maki hears footsteps grow louder on the shoreline ahead of them. All four of them are still obscured by the food stall, hidden away from the rest of the beach.

“Nanako, Mimiko, where are you?” a voice calls from nearby. “Let’s go buy crepes!”

A few moments later, a man rounds the corner.

Inky onyx hair tumbles over his shoulders, the upper third tugged into a messy bun like an afterthought, with several locks framing his brows pulled free by the summer winds. Faded jeans hang loose around his hips in a way that indicates they might have fit him once but are just a touch too big now, fastened to his slender hips by a brown leather belt with a rusty gold clasp. A thin film of seawater dampens the toes of his tatami sandals, and he’s wearing a bright red Hawaiian shirt so god-awful that if Maki didn’t know better, she might almost think he stole it directly from Gojo’s closet.

Nanako and Mimiko both whip their heads around to face him. “Dad!” 

“Hello, girls,” he greets. “Don’t run off like that, you worried me. Now what’s going on here?”

His daughters both shuffle in place. “They took our stuff,” Mimiko responds.

Way to leave off literally all of the context, Maki says to herself, but before she can voice it, the man shoots her a glare so horrifyingly violent that she genuinely forgets how to speak. 

He’s not taller than Gojo, but he carries himself like he is, towering above her with cursed energy so tangible she could cut it with a knife. Maki doesn’t even have to open herself to it; it just slams into her like a tsunami, flooding her veins until it feels like her own circulatory system is drowning her. It reminds her of Gojo’s not in that they’re the same, but that they’re exact opposites -- if Gojo’s energy is a raging fire then this man’s is a coursing river, a vast aqueous abyss with all sealife wiped out, like an ocean poisoned with an oil spill so overflowing it seeps into his amethyst eyes, glistening like gemstones drenched in molten galaxies. Still, there’s something about it that’s strangely tragic, as it spills from the hollow parts of his core like falling tears, almost as if his soul itself is crying.

“Give it back,” he demands, and holy shit, Maki’s encounter with the special grade curse taught her the haunting feeling of being about to die and it felt exactly like this. 

She and Yuuji return Nanako and Mimiko’s items to them wordlessly, and Maki hates being obedient like this but her instincts are telling her that this man could end her life with his back turned without batting an eye.

He reaches for his daughters and tightly clutches their shoulders, like he’s desperate to protect them from something he doesn’t even fully believe is a threat. Their cursed energy is nothing like his, so they’re clearly adopted, but the look on his face is so similar to the way Toji and Gojo look at their own adopted children that it almost scares her. He’s glaring down at Maki with eyes like chainsaws, as if he’ll hack her to pieces if she takes even one step closer to his daughters, like he loves them so incredibly much it’s driven him mad.

“Oi! Maki! Yuuji!” Toji calls from somewhere to the left of them, and Maki hears him jogging over to where the five of them are tucked away. He’s dressed in his old white t-shirt and sweatpants again, but his shoes are still untied. “If you’re gonna ditch me, you should at least--”

But he cuts himself off as soon as he catches sight of Nanako and Mimiko’s father. The shocked reaction is reciprocated; but soon after, their father’s face drains of all color, as if he’s just come face-to-face with a phantom. The man stands in petrified silence for a few seconds longer before finally choking out, “How?”

He’s staring at Toji with hatred so thick and heavy it permeates the space around them and binds to the air, sinking all of the oxygen into the sand and making it impossible to breathe, like a hand crushing Maki’s throat or a boot stomped onto her diaphragm. It radiates from his body in waves so lethal even Yuuji notices, the ever-present smile on his face wiped forcefully away and replaced with an anxious tension.

“Nanako. Mimiko,” he begins. “I need to talk to this man for a bit. Why don’t you go buy those crepes with your new friends here?”

Nanako gives him a frown of concern. “Friends?” she repeats incredulously. “But Dad, they’re--”

“I’m aware of that,” he interrupts in a tone both soft and strained. “Just this once, okay? I’ll meet you there soon.”

Uncomfortably, Mimiko fidgets. “Soon?”

He nods slowly. “Soon.”

“Do you promise?” Nanako mumbles.

The man gulps, and something almost like pain traces across his features. “Of course I promise,” he replies warmly as soon as he collects himself, crouching down to brush a hand through her hair. “When have I ever let you down?”

This seems to appease her, and Nanako gives him a quick hug before jogging back to grab her sister’s hand. “Come on,” she grumbles to Maki and Yuuji. “Let’s go, I guess.”

Maki hesitates. “Toji, this person is--”

“I know,” Toji cuts her off. His gaze is glued to the man in front of him, face tugged into a grimace. “It’ll be fine. Trust me.” He offers her a confident, reassuring grin. “Besides, I also gotta have a little chat with this guy.”

Maki stares at the man a few seconds longer. He’s powerful, but not more powerful than Gojo. Definitely nothing that Toji can’t handle, and she knows he and his now-partner have fought at least once. She can’t say she’s thrilled about the idea of leaving him with someone who seems about ready to skin him alive and feed his still-beating heart to an ocean of sharks, but--

‘Trust me.’

And Maki does.

She joins Yuuji, Nanako, and Mimiko on the boardwalk, the two girls stubbornly refusing to look at Maki and her best friend. Behind her, Toji stretches his back and cracks his knuckles, and Maki can tell it’s about to go down.

-----------------------

Once all four kids have disappeared into the horizon, Toji turns his attention back to the man before him.

It’s not sunset yet, but almost. Waxy white clouds are just beginning to show the first hints of evening hues, like food coloring spilled into a bucket of cool water. The sun is tucked halfway into the ocean and peeks out from behind the waves, watching with bated breath as the scene unfolds. 

It’s Suguru. It has to be. Even if Toji hadn’t seen that curse transform or Gojo hadn’t shown him those old polaroids, he’d know solely from his unholy cursed energy, tainted with sorrow and smeared with death and regret. He looks enough like the pictures to be recognizable -- but his features are sharper at the edges, more jaded. There are bags under his eyes that appear so permanent they could be scars, and any youthful mirth from his days back in high school seems to have been forcibly squeezed from his body and drained from his blood. Gojo’s shirt doesn’t fit him right; and it is Gojo’s, because no other human alive would burn cash on something that hideous. 

It pisses Toji off, seeing Suguru have the audacity to wear it in public after what he did.

Toji opens his mouth to tell him as much, and it’s then he realizes he doesn’t actually know this fucker’s last name.

“You don’t really wanna talk, do ya?” Toji says instead.

Suguru languidly folds his arms. “Not exactly,” he hums, and he seems more level-headed now that there’s distance between Toji and his daughters -- strange, Gojo hadn’t mentioned any kids. Fuck, this complicates things. Suguru’s hatred is dialed back from a rolling boil to a controlled, steady simmer; and he remembers Gojo telling him that this guy hates non-sorcerers, but towards Toji it feels weirdly personal. “I have a lot of questions for you, but I think I’m alright with finding the answers elsewhere.”

“That so?” Toji sneers. “And why can’t ya just ask me later?”

Suguru shrugs. “Well, I can’t exactly hold a conversation with you once you’re dead, can I?”

“Ah,” Toji says flatly. “So that’s how it is.”

“You say that as if it could ever be anything else,” he grouses, and you know what? Toji had expected at least some level of hostility if the two of them ever met considering he isn’t a sorcerer, but now he feels like he’s missing something, something big.

“So what are you tryin’ to say to me?”

Suguru sets his jaw. He fists a hand into the cloth over his chest and shreds off his stolen shirt, revealing a black tank top. He casts the ripped shirt haphazardly aside, scraps of red and white fabric fluttering behind him in the wind like dragonflies.

“We meet again, you fucking monkey. 

Looks like I have to finish what Satoru started.”

Chapter Text

‘We meet again?’

Toji grinds his teeth.

Thanks, Gojo, for leaving that out.

A sharp evening breeze cuts the silence, carrying with it the scent of a polluted ocean. Toji can almost taste all the manmade poison discarded in its defenseless waters. Suguru hasn’t moved since his declaration of war, but he’s staring Toji down like a judge who’s just given a death sentence before the trial has even begun. 

“Y’know, they say the clothes you die in are the ones you wear as a ghost,” Toji begins, gesturing to the mangled carcass of Gojo’s stolen shirt. “Thank fuck you took it off. Wouldn’t wanna condemn you to eternity in that thing.”

Suguru sighs, readjusting the broad black straps on his shoulders to cover more of his collarbones. “Too bad for you, then, that your ghost is going to look like a slob.”

Toji scowls. He’s a dad at a beach, what the hell is he supposed to dress like? Still, now he kind of regrets not tying his shoes; he doubts Suguru will give him the chance to. The thought of tripping over the laces and falling flat on his face mid-fight might be funny, if he weren’t so furious right now. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m not gonna be the one doin’ the haunting.”

“You sound awfully sure of that,” Suguru scoffs. “Y’know, I’m not normally one to enjoy fights like Satoru does, but I’ll admit I’m looking forward to cutting open your chest and finding out if your body is as heartless as your soul.”

Alright, that confirms it. Suguru’s hatred towards him is definitely personal. Nice to know the feeling’s reciprocated. “Can’t say I’m wonderin’ the same thing. I already know you’ve got a heart. Problem is, it wasn’t originally yours.” Toji wishes he could take a match to those old confession letters. Some things just need to burn. “It ain’t nice to steal. Give it back.”

“Ha! You’re giving me a lecture on morality?!” Suguru shouts, with more than a little hysteria. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Better get a good look, then, since it’ll be your last.”

The threat doesn’t seem to have any effect. Instead, Suguru’s expression is unchanged, still some barely-restrained potion of venom and disgust. “Unfortunately, there won’t be much of your corpse left to look at after I’m done with you.”

Toji scratches the back of his neck. “You sure you wanna do this, kid?” he says with an uneasy smirk. “Didn’t your daddy ever teach you not to get into fights ya can’t win?”

Suguru narrows his eyes. “I murdered my father.”

Toji snorts. "Well, that’s one hell of a ‘no.’”

Then Suguru shifts his stance, and Toji can tell what Gojo meant when he said there was death inside him.

It’s rotting, necrotic, destructive in the way a wildfire can turn a beautiful forest into a charred, barren wasteland. It’s a fatal toxin of every negative human emotion at once, and Toji’s caught halfway between bursting into tears or just throwing up, until the all-consuming numbness sets in, the same way it had when he was bleeding out on the pavement after Gojo blasted a hole through his side and he’d accepted that this how it would end. It’s desolate, regretful, like a mother dying in a natural disaster without saying goodbye to her children. And for a brief moment Toji wonders if Suguru is even alive anymore, or if he’s just a puppet controlled by strings of sorrow and sheer malice, vestiges of a vibrant spirit seeping out between the stitches.

“No curtain?” Toji wavers, when it’s clear Suguru has the full intent to butcher him without a shroud of camouflage. Gojo would be disappointed in him. It didn’t take long for Toji to learn that careless facade of his is only just for show. The kid would sooner lose his arm again than scar an innocent person for life. “Aren’t ya concerned about normal people seein’ this?”

“So? Monkeys need to know their place,” Suguru says with a shrug, though there’s something almost bitter about it. “I like to think of it as teaching them a lesson.”

What the fuck? “Monkeys?” Toji repeats, and can’t explain why that feels like a slap in the face. “They’re people.”

Suguru waves him off. “People is a strong word.”

Toji frowns. “It’s really not.” And Toji might be fuming right now, but there’s no way in hell he’d ever want Maki to see what he’s about to do. Shouldn’t Suguru feel the same? “But what about your kids?”

“It’s fine,” Suguru dismisses. “You wouldn’t be the first monkey my daughters would watch me kill.”

“What lucky girls. Anyone ever told ya that you’re a real role model?”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “Is this your last request?” He heaves a tired sigh. “Then I suppose I’ll grant it.”

Toji can’t help but laugh. “Such a gentleman.”

It’s strange. That careful grace that Toji saw in both the transformed curse and the photo album remains, but now even his form of mercy has a way of being cruel. Like a tomb raider that knocks before desecrating a grave. An ordered universe drowning in its own entropy.

“I’m not going to let you hurt Satoru again,” Suguru declares, and the statement is so incredibly ironic that Toji nearly cackles out loud. Toji opens his mouth to tell him ‘I would never’ but instead it comes out as:

“Like you have any right to say that,” Toji spits. “You’re the one who hurt him the most of all.”

Suguru looks a little confused that he knows that, but he shakes it off a moment later. “It may be too late to save her, but I can still bring you to justice.”

“Justice? Is that what ya think this is?” Toji sneers, and who the hell Suguru is talking about? Whatever, it doesn’t even matter. All Toji can picture is a boy left behind. That dusty shoebox in the corner of his closet. He squeezes his fists. “Oh, I’ll show you justice.” 

Suguru straightens his spine. “I’ve gotten much, much stronger.”

“What a coincidence,” Toji replies. “So have I.”

Then death surges again, eating the oxygen from the air around them as Suguru spills a curtain over the clouds, severing the shoreline into an arena large enough for them to shred into each other but small enough to feel suffocating. “I’m gonna make you wish you stayed dead, Toji Zen’in.”

“Oh yeah?” Toji taunts. There’s fire coursing through his veins, burning through his inhibitions like molten lava. “I’m gonna make you wish you were never even born at all.”

And so it begins.

Suguru claps his hands together and casts open his arms, then globs of festering cursed energy manifest into hideous beasts, and fuck, there’s gotta be thousands of eyes on Toji right now, between the dozen or so curses surrounding the sorcerer. A cluster of centipedes, each five meters long, writhe in a tangled mess at the flanks of the group, preyed on by an ugly vulture the color of boiling tar and the size of a car. A beast made of fused skulls snaps its numerous jaws at Suguru’s left, fleshless save for snakeline tongues covered in tumors and oozing with congealed blood. A pack of six-legged hellhounds snarl hungrily, and parasitic little flies cling to their pelts and tails, buzzing ominously as they choke on the rot. 

Suguru stands poised in the center of the horde, grinning like a proud ringmaster for a circus of freaks.

Curse manipulation?

Lame, is Toji’s first thought, then, you can’t exorcise a curse without cursed energy. Toji has exactly one weapon with him right now. It’s a knife that’s maybe the length of his forearm, unsheathed and shoved haphazardly between the folds of his beach bag, a solid thirty meters away from him. Grade one, probably, and that probably is dubious at best. 

Suguru looks like he has no intention of letting him reach it.

Killing intent pours over the battlefield like a summer monsoon. Suguru is trying to murder him. Toji drops into a ready stance and prepares to fight back, and it’s then he has to decide whether or not he’s actually trying to kill this fucker.

‘My one and only.’

God fucking dammit.

If Toji lets this man live, people will die. That’s indisputable.

But Gojo would be crushed, especially if Toji were the one to kill him. He might never smile again. It should really be a tougher decision than it is. 

The lives of countless people he doesn’t know, or the happiness of his son.

It’s not even a tough decision at all. It’s the easiest choice he’s ever made.

Oh, well. Toji never claimed to have righteous priorities.

I promise I won’t let you lose anyone else.

The curses charge towards Toji in an angry mob, darting off in a starburst of directions until he’s totally surrounded. It’s those infernal canines that gun for him first, howling like ravenous beasts on the verge of starvation. They lunge for him as they leap in frightening unison, so Toji uses the sand to his advantage and rockets forwards as he slides under their airborne bodies, dodging the entire attack in a single motion.

But they have backup. The curse made of skulls literally falls apart, each of the heads taking residence upon the necks of the centipedes. 

Ah, well that’s horrifying. That’s something that would give a kid nightmares every day for the rest of their life, and in this moment Toji understands why children are afraid of the monsters hiding in their closets and under their beds. He’s glad that curtain is up so Maki and Yuuji can’t see this; but the small fact that Suguru would be alright with his daughters witnessing this kind of carnage is enough to spark fury inside Toji that ignites into a raging pyre, like a cigarette dropped into a gas tank. Toji feels like he’s gonna explode.

He drives forwards. Lifeless jaws snap at him from behind living ones, hissing acid spray Toji barely dodges as it erodes the sand. The vulture swoops in from behind him and Toji fists a hand into its feathers and throws it at the centipede mass, the impetus of its hulking body slowing its reaction time as it barrels into the armored insects. The hounds round back for another pass at him, coordinating with the rest of the curses this time. Toji bolts towards them and uses the momentum of a kick to the avian monster’s neck to vault above the crowd, and now he’s even further from the knife than before.

Suguru is perched on a titanic manta ray, soaring overhead as he observes closely, like an emperor who watches gladiators die for fun.

Toji rushes again through the array of beasts and shreds one of the insects in half, putrid bug guts spraying over the sand in a peridot shower. It screeches in agony before its ally shoves the shredded body parts back together, viscous fluids bubbling out from the fusing seam until it regenerates back into a patchwork abomination version of itself.

Until Toji can retrieve that knife, this is going to keep happening. New number one priority.

Suguru can tell.

Toji makes a mad dash towards his campsite, but Suguru beats him to it. But instead of attacking with another curse, he jumps off the piscine wings, thudding to the ground between Toji and his weapon. The last of his tied-back hair is torn free of the ribbon from the falling windforce, his loose locks sweeping his shoulders as he braces himself.

“Not keepin’ your distance?” Toji jeers as he reaches Suguru’s position. “Don’t ya have any survival--”

But Suguru cuts him off with a bruising smack to his sternum backed by unexpected force. The single breath Toji takes to process that is more than enough time for Suguru to windmill a violent kick to his temple, and it’s only on the way down that Toji catches his ankle and tries to toss him off balance.

And fails, somehow. Suguru’s body twists in a layout before landing upright in the sand, with such solidity and confidence that Toji might nearly think that went exactly as he planned.

“Why would I keep my distance?” Suguru mocks, whipping his hair behind his shoulders. “I’m not a coward.”

Toji tries another sprint towards his blade, but Suguru is there first. He clasps Toji’s wrist and swivels around his body, digging a heel into the weakest part of Toji’s stitched up torso, and how the hell does Suguru know exactly where that is? He follows it with a lateral chop to Toji’s shoulderblade that dulls his senses for a brief petrifying moment, and Toji’s only able to shake it off about a thousandth of a second before Suguru can break his neck.

Toji hurls a kick at Suguru’s chest, but the only thing it hits is his afterimages. He finally manages to land a punch after his fourth try, and Suguru recovers from it so quickly that it’s almost embarrassing.

Toji hates to admit it, but Suguru is brilliant in close combat. It’s not just the strength, but the trickery, the way he reads all of Toji’s movements before he’s thought of them himself. Each of his stances has the sturdiness of mountains the age of the earth but the fluidity of the rivers that cleave them in two. Every kick and punch is like being led into a trap, and Toji’s stupidly falling for about half of them. 

It’s kind of infuriating. He makes Gojo’s impeccable technique look worse than Yuuji’s, and Toji’s never fully realized the massive chasm between almost perfect and perfect until right now.

But there’s a downside for Suguru in following all of Toji’s movements; it means that Toji can also predict his, too. Once he’s mostly pinned down Suguru’s fighting style, he can match it equal force and energy, until every punch leads to a parry and kicks meet nothing but thin air. He can tangibly feel Suguru’s mounting frustration as he struggles to keep up with the escalating speed and strength. But it’s that frustration that fuels the fire, until both of them are consumed by the flames.

If Toji and Gojo fight like they were born to battle alongside each other, then Toji and Suguru fight like they were born to be opposed.

Finally, Toji manages to topple Suguru’s balance with an ankle sweep disguised as a roundhouse, whamming the sorcerer into the sand compacted by seawater. Suguru’s back on his feet within seconds, but seconds are all Toji needs to bolt to his bag, grab the knife from its canvas folds and slice his fingers in the process, then turn around to ready himself brandishing his hard-earned weapon.

Suguru swears under his breath. He sends another slew of curses towards Toji until a kaleidoscope of grotesque colors blacken the sky, and just before Toji is swallowed by the swarm Suguru declares: 

“I have something of yours,” he taunts. “Not that I’m planning on giving it back.”

Toji pinches his brows. “What are you--”

Then the curses converge on his position, but Toji’s armed this time. He tears through their bodies like tissue paper until his white top looks like the grisliest tie dye t-shirt of all time. It tastes terrible, beastly stomach acid bursting onto his tongue and spinal fluid leaking into his eyes. Hundreds of twisted appendages grasp at his limbs, with slimy fingers and razor-thin claws that make him wish he could shed his own skin. 

Once he’s finally exorcised them all and can see ahead once more, Suguru is brandishing a weapon of his own, a broadsword the length of his leg with a fur tsuba atop the hilt, and why does that thing look so damn familiar?

Toji would ask, if the sole curse behind Suguru didn’t temporarily extinguish his ability to speak.

“Hey, Zen’in,” Suguru begins, low and ominous, the calm before the storm. “Do you have any idea how long it took to find another dragon?”

In a twisted way, it’s almost beautiful. Its colossal body seems to be made entirely out of crystal, in prismatic tones of milky white and cool pastel hues. Four massive wings beat the sky as if punishing the air itself, jagged gemstones decorating the edges of the limbs like delicate lace. Icicle-like horns match the mane of quartz cresting its neck, the same color as its sleek eyes, pupil-less and totally white. A tail of perfect fractals and fiber optics swishes in time with its front and back legs, tipped by claws stronger than diamond, holy and horrifying like biblical angels.

Then the beat roars, and Toji doesn’t understand how Suguru can stand in front of a fucking dragon the size of a house and somehow still look more imposing than it.

“That’s quite the curse ya got there,” Toji chuckles.

Suguru’s grip on the broadsword tightens. “And yet the worst monster here is you.”

Toji doesn’t know why that actually gets to him. Maybe because of how much Suguru looks like he truly believes it. “What’s that phrase again?” Toji shouts, in a feeble attempt to deflect the cruel insult. “Takes one to know one, right?!”

That seems to strike a nerve with Suguru too, and he staggers back off-kilter, like pressing the wrong key on a piano. “I’m not a--!”

But he cuts himself off, for some unspoken reason. Suguru points the tip of his blade at Toji’s chest, giving the dragon a silent command. It inhales the little remaining warmth from inside the curtain into its gargantuan chest, then it literally breathes fire.

Black flames pour out of its mouth like the gates of hell cast open, melting the sand ahead of it into a river of glass. The heat is so blistering that the water at the edge of the shoreline starts to boil before evaporating into hot vents of steam, dripping condensation on the slippery surface. Suguru stomps on the mouth of the gleaming river and a tidal wave of broken glass surges forth, collapsing onto Toji as he plows through the sand to avoid the undertow, littering his body with a smattering of tiny cuts.

The dragon sears another plume of onyx fire directly at him. Toji takes cover in the waves just in time, but Suguru hops on its back then they’re both before him again, and the dragon’s massive tail strikes the water hard enough to spray sea foam on what’s left of the clouds. It’s so incredibly hot that Suguru’s image ripples from the waves of sweltering heat, and it’s hard to tell if Suguru’s bare arms are drenched in oceanwater or his own sweat. His hands are red and raw from clinging to the superheated monster. Toji’s lungs are so charred that it hurts to breathe. The water crackles and smells of salt and burning flesh.

It’s an ugly spectacle, and Suguru’s hatred towards Toji burns the hottest of all. Toji recalls the manic high on Gojo’s face during their final fight -- but with Suguru, there’s none of that. Instead, the only thing carved into his expression is sheer, unrestrained fury; but there’s something like grief or sorrow mixed in, as he stares down at Toji like a priest sending someone to hell. For what crimes, Toji couldn’t say.

“I am going to kill you,” Suguru says mechanically, as if the only thing he’s capable of speaking in this moment is that one sentence.

Toji grits his teeth. He’s only felt this level of rage before towards Maki’s false family. The last shred of logic in his mind is telling him to get this over with as quickly as he can, but it’s damn near impossible when every single one of his fatherly instincts is screaming at him to stomp on Suguru’s chest and crush his heart for breaking Gojo’s. 

It’s getting harder and harder to hold back. He can’t even remember any fight where he wasn’t trying to kill something. It’s a little tragic. 

“You can keep tryin’!”

The dragon draws in another breath, and holy shit, Toji’s skin is going to be singed off if he doesn’t get the hell out of the water, now. Shards of glass dig into the heels of his sneakers as he flees from the waves, just before the curse razes the shoreline into lava rock. A wracking cough rattles its body; there’s a limit, it seems. It swoops low towards the sand and drops its master from its back, Suguru gripping the broadsword’s hilt with an unjust vengeance as the curse disappears back into his body.

And it dawns on him, then. It’s not enough to be called a memory, but it’s more than sufficient to tell him what he needs to know. Toji and Suguru haven’t just met before, they’ve fought. He really should’ve figured it out before now, but today it’s like he’s fighting an entirely different person than he did back then.

Just what triggered such a vast increase in strength? Does Toji even want to know?

Gojo fought like he had something to protect. Suguru fights like he has something to avenge.

And the strength of his convictions is so powerful that for a split second Toji is angry at himself, wondering what he did to earn such fury. Do I deserve it? a small part of him wonders as Suguru tries to hack off his legs while their shuffling feet kick up a miasma of ruined sand, their blades colliding violently.

The onslaught doesn’t stop. Suguru backs every swing of the broadsword with righteous wrath, each clarion crash of their weapons tolling like a church bell at a funeral. His eyes are a mix of bravery and panic, like he’s staring down someone holding a loaded gun. A diagonal cleave of the sword nicks Toji’s cheek; Toji snags Suguru’s hip with a slice the size of a pencil and just about as wide as one, too. He could’ve made it deeper, deep enough to bleed him out, but he promised, he promised, and it’s really getting annoying to parry hits from a blade three times the size of his own.

Being brilliant in combat has its limits. Sometimes the best strategy is to just do whatever the fuck you want.

So when Suguru takes another calculated swing at him with that mysterious sword, Toji doesn’t try to block it with the knife. Instead, he thrusts out a hand and stops the speeding blade with his bare hand, wincing when the metal cleaves into the flesh.

The rush of hot liquid down his wrist is totally worth the surprise that surfaces on Suguru’s face. When Suguru tries to throw more of his weight into the attack, his stance falters, and that’s all Toji needs as an opportunity. He curls his other hand into an iron fist and bludgeons Suguru’s elbow, snapping the connection between the bones in two. 

To his credit, Suguru’s anguish is almost totally silent, audible only from how loudly he’s grinding his teeth. He doesn’t even let go of the sword. There’s determination, and then there’s whatever the fuck this is, but it’s too stubborn, too far. Taking out Suguru’s ankle next is barely any effort from here. That gets a startled cry out of him, along with the sickening sound of him clamping his teeth on his tongue to muffle it.

How Suguru is still able to fight on one leg and one arm is beyond Toji. If he truly wanted to, Toji could end it all right here and now. Suguru almost looks confused that he hasn’t, but all Toji can see with every punch and kick is that horrified look on Gojo‘s face when Toji killed the curse that morphed into his one and only.

“You’re holding back on me,” Suguru shouts, and it was only a matter of time before he figured that out but he almost seems insulted by it. “Why?!”

Toji opens his mouth to say, ‘Because I don’t want to kill you!’ but before the words can leave his tongue Suguru thunders,

“Have you finally realized that you deserve to die?!”

And that statement petrifies Toji just long enough for Suguru to call forth one final curse. It’s a sea serpent, so enormous that its body can’t even fit inside the curtain. It wraps itself around Toji like a boa constrictor, trying to squeeze the life out of him. Suguru drops the sword beside him in the sand, letting out a sigh of undue relief as he meets Toji’s eyes with exhaustion in his own.

“In the end, the king of the monkeys is still just a monkey.”

Then the leviathan drags him underwater, the same way Gojo did during their last fight when he tried to drown Toji in the Arakawa.

How foolish he was, thinking he doesn’t freeze up like Gojo does. What’d he say to the kid that one time -- ‘like father like son, right?’ -- but the two of them were similar even before that. Their final confrontation feels like a lifetime ago, even though it’s been less than a year. But who can blame him? So much has happened since then.

Toji wouldn’t put it past him to have started it on a whim. ‘Work with me!’ he’d chirped with a grin, while the grim reaper waved at both of them from its perch on the trashed riverbank. Toji had only agreed for the sake of his bank account. It’s almost funny, how little he knew what he was getting into, and he finds himself smiling despite the salt stinging his fresh wounds. Who the hell ends up adopting the boy who practically bribed them not to kill him?

And it was a hard fucking sell, at first. ‘I don't have any intention of bein’ friends with you,’ Toji had grumbled, and he’d been so sure of that when he said it.

‘Pfft,’ Gojo dismissed. ‘That goes both ways, old man.’

He was still sure of it, when it came time for their first assignment together; that hellish plane ride to Hokkaido made him seriously consider breaking the contract, but that mission was the first time when something between them changed. ‘I’m used to it!’ Gojo sang with false cheer, after talking about being repeatedly abandoned. Fuck, Toji hates Suguru even more now after remembering that, and he didn’t think that was possible. ‘Just a fun side effect of being the strongest.’

Toji’s first thought had been that he was kidding, then finding out that he wasn’t made him genuinely sad. ‘The strongest? You say that like it means you have to be alone.’ 

Unexpectedly, Gojo had freaked out. ‘You’re only human, kid,’ Toji told him, and Gojo had looked at him like he’d been waiting to hear those words his whole life. ‘Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.’

Toji hadn’t been sure if the sentiment would stick, but he’d been pleasantly surprised a few days later when Gojo showed up out of the blue with a poorly-wrapped gift. ‘Give this to your daughter for her birthday, or something,’ he’d instructed, and that little stuffed duckling told him more about Gojo than any of his deflective jokes ever could. Now Toji can’t stand when people brush Gojo off as flippant and aloof, because he isn’t. He listens. He cares.

And Toji hadn’t realized how strongly he felt about it until Nanami’s offhand comment about Gojo’s strength on parents’ day really set him off. ‘What, so you think that just because he’s strong means he has to solve everyones’ problems all by himself?’ he’d snapped. ‘He’s built like a goddamn beanstalk. He’d snap in half if he had to carry that burden alone.’

Then the joy in Gojo’s eyes had been tangible after Toji invited him to Maki’s birthday party, and he’d laughed with honestly and innocence as she threw her cake in his face, Limitless nowhere to be found. It was probably in that moment that Toji knew, even though he wouldn’t piece it together until much later. 

Bullying Gojo Club was established shortly after, and yeah, maybe Toji should’ve gotten a clue a little earlier once he and Maki started bickering like siblings right away. Since then he’s spent almost every Tuesday and Thursday with Toji and his daughter, and between that and their missions it reached a point where he now sees him almost every day. He can’t pinpoint when exactly he stopped minding, only that now he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Then Toji finally met Gojo’s children, the night he’d crashed on Gojo’s couch to make sure he was okay after that fight with the curse that ate all his energy. He’d never admit it, but maybe he’d always intended to carry the kid back home, even when he’d protested that he wouldn’t. Maybe that’s why Gojo held his ground so firmly. Clever brat. 

In any case, Toji felt a lot less stupid about getting him that dorky zebra poster at the zoo once he saw that Gojo framed it on his wall.

And then came the camping trip where Toji finally learned the truth about the fate of Gojo’s father. Gojo has lost so much over something he never had the chance to choose. And in that moment Toji made it his mission to do all he could to give back everything his strength took away from him. 

‘I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re stuck with each other now. I guess I’ve gotta look after you.’

One of the only three things Toji still retained after losing his memories was that before it happened, he was not a good person. 

Toji doesn’t deserve to be the one watching over Gojo, he knows. But maybe it’s not about whether or not he deserves it. Gojo’s partner is what he is, and every day he’ll fight against his past to earn that precious place beside him.

After this is over, Toji has to tell Gojo how important to him he is. All of this is because of him -- even if it wasn’t his original intention, wiping Toji’s mind gave him a second chance he never would’ve had otherwise, to obtain things he’d long since forgotten. A home. A family. The moment he returns, Toji has to thank him.

In fact, he has to thank all of them. He’ll thank Maki for giving him purpose, for allowing him back into her life after he left her behind. He’ll thank Nanami for his patience, and Yuki for being the first to believe in him when no one else would. He’ll thank Yuuji for his compassion, for being Maki’s first friend, for showing him sunlight can shine from a human being. He’ll thank Megumi and Tsumiki for giving Gojo something to protect, for teaching his daughter more about just being a kid. He’s so grateful. He’s so grateful for his entire family.

And with that, Toji opens his eyes. He’s not sure how long it’s been; the leviathan is still trying to strangle him, but Toji can hold his breath underwater for well over an hour. He breaks free of its coils, shreds off droves of steel-plated scales as if they’re nothing more than flower petals. When the beast makes a last desperate lunge at him, Toji rips out one of its front fangs, hooks the sharp tooth on the corner of its mouth, then rips it laterally in half along the entire length of its body.

Toji blasts out of the water as the curse is exorcised by its own deadly weapon. Suguru is still standing in the same place as if he’d been waiting for this to happen, but there’s still disappointment and horror etched into his expression when Toji thuds back onto the shoreline. 

What right do you have to make a face like that, Toji seethes to himself, because Suguru is the one who hurt Gojo, who stole his heart then broke it into tiny pieces, who was probably the last straw in the kid accepting that he’d always be alone. He’s the one who disgustingly calls everyone who’s not a sorcerer a monkey, stripping them of their humanity and painting a target on their backs just because they’re not like him, and holy fuck, if he wants to kill all non-sorcerers that means he’d want to kill Maki--

Something important snaps inside him. Toji tears across the beach until he’s at their former position; the knife is back in his hands before he’s even registered that he grabbed it. Suguru only makes it half a step towards his discarded sword before Toji is right in front of him again. 

Toji draws back his elbow, squares his shoulders in a perfect parallel with Suguru’s, then slashes a massive X across the width of his chest.

Suguru falls back, his long hair fanning out on the sand beneath him like a fallen halo as the curtain tumbles from the sky. Toji pins the sorcerer under his foot, heel smack in the center of the weeping wound. He brandishes the blade high above his head, grip so tight on the handle that the ivory cracks.

Suguru is glaring at him with resigned defiance, as if he’s sure he’s going to die but will go to hell with honor.

But Toji won’t do it. He can’t. He promised he would not let Gojo lose anyone else. Not even if that person doesn’t deserve his affection in the first place, because honestly:

Who is Toji, of all people, to decide whether or not it’s too late for someone?

Toji swallows hard, huffs out a shallow exhale, then drops the knife in the sand beside Suguru’s neck.

“You’re not going to kill me?” Suguru coughs, once Toji eases some of the pressure on the space beside his heart. “There would be meaning in that.”

“I’m not gonna kill you,” Toji croaks, and even though it’s a statement the words sound more like a plea.

Suguru narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“You said it yourself, didn’t ya?” Toji wavers. Blood drips from above onto Suguru’s cheek, and Toji can’t tell if it’s Suguru’s or his own. “I swore I’d never hurt him ever again.”

Suguru’s pupils widen owlishly. “Who the hell are you talking about?” he says slowly, though the look of abject horror creeping across his face shows that he’s already figured out the answer.

“Who else could it be?” Toji murmurs. Hiding the truth doesn’t matter now. Maybe it never did. Everything about this is too raw, emotions as bruised and battered as their bodies, and Toji surprises even himself when the name he defaults to is, “I’m talkin’ about Satoru.”

“Huh?” Suguru says in a small voice. “Why would you care what happens to him?”

Toji takes a deep breath, and for the first time he admits aloud: “Because he’s like a son to me.”

The knife remains in the sand, but Suguru still looks like he’s been stabbed. His expression is stamped with mortified shock, icy and scalding all at once, like he’s halfway between crying and yelling. “What the fuck?” Suguru screws his eyes shut and vigorously shakes his head, as if rejecting what he’s just heard will somehow make it untrue. “H-How do you even--”

“I’m his partner,” Toji responds, before he can finish asking the question. “It’s my purpose to protect him.” 

Toji doesn’t understand how Suguru’s expression can be both alive with anger yet so incredibly dead. “You plunged a knife through his throat and pushed him to the brink of death, and now you’re the one that gets to be by his side?” Suguru looks so, so hurt. “How disgusting.” 

“You’re the one who left his side in the first place,” Toji glowers. “If you know everything he’s been through, you must’ve known how that would affect him. I don’t get it. I don’t get it one bit.” A flare of resentment spikes in Toji’s guts. “Hey, here’s an idea. How about I break a rib for every time you made him cry?” Toji presses his heel dangerously into Suguru’s ribcage. “Oh, I guess that wouldn’t work. You don’t have enough for it. How many bones are in the human body? 206?” He shoves harder, and hears a broken chorus of nauseating cracks. Suguru winces. “That might do it.”

“Everything he’s been through? ” Suguru snaps, face twisted in some futile attempt to ignore the pain. “Don’t you realize how much of that was because of you?”

Toji’s eyes dilate. “Wait, what did I--”

And then it hits him. Not a memory from his past, but from halfway through last December, when a boy stood before him with sadness and pain on his face.

‘You’re the reason everything started spiralling with him,’ Gojo had said. ‘Hope you’re happy about that, I guess.’

Toji glances down at Suguru. He must be who Gojo meant, he has to be. And Toji’s mind drifts back to that difference between the calm and poised boy in the photo album, growing ever-weary as the years dragged on, then that false smile plastered on his face in the last photo, the same counterfeit grin that Gojo always wears when he’s trying to hide that his heart is in pieces. 

I did that? Toji asks himself. When Gojo first made that claim to Toji, he’d laughed in the kid’s face and said he was thrilled, and not a single shred of him regretted that unknown thing he did in the past to make him say that. But now?

“I’m not happy about it,” Toji says, less to Suguru and more to himself.

“What’s that look for?” Suguru sneers, and Toji hadn’t even realized he was on the verge of shattering until Suguru points it out. “Don’t tell me you have a conscience now. Isn’t it a little too late for that?”

“Why would it be too late for that?” Toji asks quietly.

He gets another question in response. “Who was that girl you were with? She looks like you.”

“Yeah, she’s my daughter,” Toji replies, and doesn’t think he likes where this is going.

The sorcerer’s expression becomes heavy with mourning. “How could you look your daughter in the eyes after what you did to Riko?”

Toji only realizes he doesn’t want to know the answer to this question until after he chokes, “Who the hell is Riko?”

“You really don't remember?” Suguru says with a bitter laugh. “You haven't changed a bit.”

Toji teeters back, dizzy from vertigo, the world spinning at the speed of light on its opposite axis. You’re wrong, he wants to say, but can’t force the words out of his mouth. Maybe he could if Suguru weren’t splayed out beneath him in a butchered mess, chest carved out like a slab of meat, and fuck, how much of this is my fault, would he not have left Gojo if it weren’t for me? 

“That’s rich, comin’ from you,” is eventually all Toji can manage, after the silence has stretched on so long that it’s almost awkward. “You’re the one killing people in front of your daughters.”

Suguru clenches his fists. “They’re not people.”

“And that makes it okay?!”

“Do you think I enjoy it?” Suguru hisses. “I take no pleasure in slaughter. But it’s necessary.”

“Necessary for who?”

“Who do you fucking think?!” Suguru spits with such vitriol that more blood splats the sand out the side of his mouth from the force of his words alone. “For my daughters! You have no idea what it was like for them before I took them in! There are still times when I look at them and all I can see is how cruel cuts and bruises looked on a five-year-old’s body! If this is a world that calls them monsters and casts them aside, then I don’t want to live in it. So I’ll remake it. By myself, if I have to.”

Toji sighs, removing his heel from Suguru’s chest. He kicks the knife further away from both of them into the sand; he never wants to look at it ever again. Toji gulps, vaguely sick to his stomach, socks uncomfortably wet from seawater and Suguru’s blood.

You two really are similar, huh?

Gojo said he would burn the world to the ground for his children. 

But Suguru is actually doing it. 

“We’re done here,” Toji declares, despite the distinct feeling that this is far from the end. This isn’t even the end of the beginning. “My kids are waiting for me.”

“Kids,” Suguru repeats with something Toji assumes was supposed to be a laugh, but it’s much closer to a sob.

Probably not the best thing to say there, but Toji’s beyond caring. Besides, not using the plural of that word would’ve felt like a lie. God, he’s praying Gojo won’t hate him for this. “Yeah, kids. I have kids to go home to. And you know what? So do you.”

Toji spins on his heels and turns his back towards the horizon, the dying red sun bleeding into the ocean like a gunshot wound. He drags his tired and bloody feet back to the boardwalk, and his guts definitely do not churn with guilt when he hears two tiny, terrified voices cry, “Dad!” as their footsteps grow louder on the shoreline behind him.

Chapter Text

The ride back to Toji’s apartment after the fight with Suguru is an incredibly long one. Never mind that Toji’s clothes are sopping wet, plastered against his battered skin like paper mâché, folds crushed over one another as if squeezed in a metal press. They hit every red light the entire way home, the old cab creaking and lurching as the aged brakes fail to accommodate the bumps on the road. The stuffy cab reeks of gore and tainted seawater. The driver whistles awkwardly off-tune in the front seat. There’s hardly enough room in the back for Toji and the two kids beside him.

The fact that they’d both easily accepted then brushed off his mangled state after he commanded them to drop it is concerning in itself. Yuuji and Maki are now playing chopsticks casually beside where Toji is pressed against the left window, with Maki winning each time. Toji makes a mental note to ask Nanami to help the kid with his addition skills later. If he’ll even talk to Toji after this, that is.

When they reach the apartment complex, Toji gives the driver a tip that’s gotta be the equivalent of his monthly salary with a withering glare to match. He knows he must look pretty horrifying right now; might as well use it to his advantage. He steals a glance at the man’s nametag and his driver registration number.

“Goodnight, Sawamura,” Toji grouses, just to make sure the man is aware that Toji now knows his name. “Take care, or something.” Then he ushers the kids out of the car.

Each step up the steel staircase clangs against his brain and echoes miserably throughout the hollows of his skull. When he shoves back through the door, the kids scurry off to Maki’s room, thankfully possessing the good sense to get out of Toji’s way. Toji trudges to his room, sends a terse text, plops down on the edge of his bed, and waits.

He hears the telltale sound of the front door slamming open without warning a few minutes later. His guest pauses briefly, seemingly looking for him and finding the entryway devoid of Toji, then pads over to his room and pushes the ajar door fully open.

“Hey, Toji! I got your text. What was so urgent that I had to come right ov-- oh my god.” Gojo’s face drains of all color, as if he’s the one bleeding out in the dimly-lit doorway. “Oh my god, you’re drenched in his blood. Toji, you didn’t.”

“I could’ve,” Toji shoots back, and Gojo inhales sharply, hand clutching the metal hinge until it’s warped beyond recognition by the infinite weight of Limitless, then Toji appends, “but no. I didn’t. You’re fucking welcome.”

“Thank you,” Gojo exhales, reverently, and the weakness in his voice flattens Toji under a metric ton of guilt. “Thank you.”

Toji scrubs his face with his hands. “Don’t--don’t thank me,” he murmurs, because it’s impossible to stay furious when Gojo is looking at him like that. “I’m the one who couldn’t live with myself if I made you lose someone again.”

Gojo is quiet, seemingly unable to muster a response to that. Eventually, he clicks the door shut behind him, then leans against it with a weary exhale, sinking down onto the floor as his snowflake lashes flutter shut. It’s uncomfortably cold in the room, even though Toji forgot to turn on the air conditioner. 

He’s been doing that more and more lately. Little things just keep slipping through his fingers.

After a long, heavy silence, Gojo finally whispers, “What happened?”

There’s no easy way to answer that. The kid deserves a thorough explanation, but instead all Toji can manage is: “He tried to kill me.”

“Hah.” Gojo huffs out an empty laugh without opening his eyes. “Figures.”

Though Gojo would probably disagree, Toji’s glad he wasn’t there to try to stop it. Toji’s not sure he wants to know who Gojo would’ve chosen between the two of them. Because that would mean he’d have to answer an important question Toji barely has the guts to ask. 

“Hey, kid,” Toji begins, deciding to ask anyway. “Did I deserve that?”

Gojo says nothing.

Toji wipes a thin trail of blood from the weeping wound on his cheek. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He replays the conversation that’s already repeating like a broken record in his brain. “Did I really stab you in the throat when we fought before?”

Gojo nods slowly. “Yeah. I got over it.” He gestures vaguely towards the stitches on Toji’s chest. “Kind of ended up evening out, didn’t it?”

Considering that Toji’s wounds gave him a fresh start in life and Gojo’s probably gave him phantom trauma, Toji’s not sure he agrees. “Sure,” he says instead. He wonders if his first fight with Suguru had anything to do with that. How badly had he hurt Suguru, too? 

Is that all Toji knew how to do back then? 

“Was him leaving you my fault?” Toji asks.

Gojo gulps. “Kind of.”

“Ah.” Toji leans back on his hands. It doesn’t tell him any more than he already knew deep down, but it still stirs up a wave of self-hatred he’d finally managed to dissipate after meeting Maki. “By the way...” he starts, and against his better judgment he continues, “...who’s Riko?”

Gojo grinds his teeth, finally meeting Toji’s eyes with pain and panic in his own. “Don’t make me answer that,” he chokes, as if the response to that question lingering in his throat is enough to suffocate him. “Please.”

“Okay,” Toji croaks. The last thing he could do right now would be to hurt Gojo more than he already has. And he’s hurt him so much. Suguru made sure Toji was fully aware of that. But all that knowledge does is conjure another impossible question. “If I did all that, why the hell did you ask me to work with you back then?”

“Well, I was a little delirious,” Gojo chuckles, but there’s something off about the answer, or maybe missing.

“That’s not all, is it?”

Gojo readjusts his sunglasses. “If I’m the one with the Six Eyes, why is it always you who sees right through me?” he laughs weakly. “I guess...I just thought we were the same.”

Not the answer he’d expected. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, really. But not that. “Since we had similar strength?”

Gojo shakes his head. “No,” he says with certainty. “I dunno. There was just--” He takes off his dark lenses and sets him beside them. “I’d never met anyone with the same convictions as me. Who wanted to protect something as much as I did. I thought, if there was anyone who’d be able to stand beside me, it would have to be someone who understood that.” He folds his hands in his lap. “You were different from before. So was I. And somehow, despite everything, we ended up becoming like each other.”

“I see,” Toji replies, then remembers the promise he made to himself when he was underwater. “Listen. I know it wasn’t your intention at first, but-- all of this is because of you.” He leans forward again. “I know it’s crazy, but I’m glad it happened. All of it. I shouldn’t be, I know. But you’re important,” he says, and christ, he must be even worse with this emotional stuff than he thought because the crucial part of that statement is: “to me.”

Gojo blinks, an unreadable expression on his face. Toji continues. “So--thanks, kid. For that. For giving me a second chance, or whatever. For letting me look after you. You know I’ll always protect you, right? From anything. Because I know Suguru left you--” Nice, way to state the obvious, bet he really needed to hear that right now, “ And that your dad is dead--” Wow, great job bringing that up, fuck this up a little more, won’t ya? “But Satoru, I still--”

Gojo doesn’t let him finish. He springs to his feet, crosses the room so fast that Toji can’t tell if he teleports, and throws his arms around Toji. 

Toji freezes. That time beside the campfire when Gojo leaned onto his shoulder could dubiously be called a hug, but it wasn’t like this. Wasn’t like the way Toji hugs Maki. 

But that’s not fair. Aren’t parents not supposed to show favorites?

So Toji inhales a sharp breath, then hugs him back. He wraps his arms around Gojo’s shoulders; Suguru’s blood smears between both of them. He holds him for a while like that, until the only sound that remains is the crickets announcing the descent of evening through the thin pane of his window. Toji feels like he should be crying, or maybe Gojo should. But neither of them do.

When Gojo finally pulls away, he sits down on the blanket beside Toji. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Yeah, of course. Besides, you wouldn't hide something this big from me.”

Gojo makes a distressed sound. Well, that makes sense. No one would want to hear about their kinda-dad beating the hell out of their not-boyfriend. “Anyone ever tell ya you have shit taste in men?” Toji chuckles. “Christ, kid. You really know how to pick ‘em.”

“Thanks,” Gojo says dryly, but there’s a weak smile across his features when he says it. He meets Toji’s gaze with a look of trepidation. “Are Maki and Yuuji okay?”

“He didn’t try to kill ‘em, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Toji answers, and Gojo looks more relieved about that than he probably should. “They’re fine. Think his daughters treated them like trash, though.”

A flicker of confusion traces across his face. “His daughters?”

Toji frowns. “Did you not know that?”

“I--I kinda did,” Gojo replies. “When I looked into why he left, I heard he took two girls with him. Just didn’t know he thought of them as his kids.”

“He does.” Toji looks away. “But I gotta admit, his parenting leaves something to be desired.”

Gojo hums in recognition. They don’t speak for a while after that, just stare at the space in front of them in contemplative silence. Toji can feel Gojo growing antsy beside him.

“I’m gonna go,” Gojo says quietly, and Toji really can’t blame him for that. “Just--need some time to process this. And be with my kids.” He pushes to his feet. “See you on our mission this weekend?”

Toji breathes a sigh of relief. “Yup.” He reaches out to ruffle Gojo’s hair then decides against it at the last second. “Night, kiddo.” He watches Gojo swipe his sunglasses from the floor as he prepares to bolt, and it’s then Toji realizes he hasn’t actually-- “Hey, I--I’m sorry.”

Gojo appraises him with an indecipherable expression. “Don’t be.” Then he disappears.

It takes all of Toji’s remaining energy to stagger back to a standing position. He shreds off his ruined clothes, turns on the shower, and gets in without waiting for the temperature to heat up. He stands there until the water changes from absolutely freezing to hot enough to scorch his skin. He throws on the clothes still strewn on the floor from the night before then flops onto his bed. He falls asleep before his head can hit the pillow.

He dreams of a maze of corridors, deep into the heart of a crypt underground. Old stone arches lead to tunnels with no light at the end, surrounded by stacked rings of wooden architecture, all identical to confound intruders. The panopticon is a towering tree, bound with frayed rope along the length of its truck, a dark, thin entrance at its very base.

A boy and a girl stand in front of it; a girl in dark braids with tears on her face, a boy in a black uniform with kind, tired eyes. He holds out a hand, an offering of comfort, with reassuring words and a gentle grin.

‘Riko,’ the boy says, whispered, like a promise. ‘Let’s go home.’

‘Yeah!’

Toji jolts awake, shooting to an upright position so violently the sheets tumble off his bed. His mind shuts off; his thoughts reject his invasion. It’s like his brain is utterly refusing to show him what happens next. Because--

That wasn’t a dream, Toji says to himself, he’s sure of it. That was a memory.

He stays there for an uncountable number of minutes, only distantly aware that he’s trembling from how hard it is to keep his eyes focused in the darkness. Eventually, he slides out of bed, shuffled down the hall to his daughter’s room. He pushes the door open.

She’s asleep. A peaceful expression is slipped across her features; her perfect evergreen hair is loose over the satin pillowcase. She’s clutching both the stuffed duckling from her brother and the swan from her father close to her chest, and it shoots an aching pang through Toji’s own. He stumbles over to the bed and flops down beside her.

“Hey, Maki,” he whispers to her ceiling. “I think I hurt a little girl.”

Maki stirs. She’s a light sleeper -- probably a byproduct of where she was raised. She stretches, adorable brows wrinkling together when her tiny fingers press against Toji’s shoulder. She retracts her elbow, blinking the sleep out of her drowsy gaze.

“Toji?” she murmurs without looking up. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry for wakin’ ya.” He cards a soothing hand through her hair. “Bad dream.”

“Wimp,” she says with a tired little laugh, then deep hazel eyes meet his own.

And all Toji can see are the weeping ones from the memory. They’re the same color, both young, innocent, filled with hopes and dreams for the future. Toji inhales slowly, Suguru’s condemning voice echoing in his ears.

‘How could you look your daughter in the eyes after what you did to Riko?’

Toji turns away.

...shit.

“C’mere, kiddo,” he says weakly, gaze glued to the wall. Maki is too sleepy to notice. He pulls his daughter close, and she cuddles into his chest, falling back to sleep a few minutes later.

Toji doesn’t. 

Instead, he stares at the corkboard above her desk, cluttered with an array of pictures so dense the corners overlap one another. There are a few from her birthday, with Gojo covered in cake and Yuki holding Maki in her arms. She kept the cheesy one of her and Toji that was taken on that rollercoaster; it was way overpriced and they both look ridiculous, but Maki loved it and that was all Toji needed. 

Yuuji’s water park birthday trip takes up a whole corner, with gleeful scribbles on a picture of Nanami where he’s scowling and soaking wet. There’s another one Toji took of her, Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki up in the treehouse, barring him from entering what Megumi had declared a kids-only zone. In every one of them, she looks so happy.

It aches so much he can barely stand it. What if he hurts her someday, too?

He stays awake and worries about it for the rest of the night.

It’s been about two weeks since the fight with Suguru, and Toji is doing great, thanks for asking. 

He can still barely hold eye contact with Maki for more than a few seconds, and he’s pretty sure she’s starting to notice. She’s back in school again, granting Toji the small mercy of solitude as he spends his free time staring at the ceiling, going back-and-forth between trying to remember anything about his past or praying to whatever god is up there that he never does. 

Missions with Gojo are still kind of awkward. After they save a happy couple from a curse, Gojo looks a little bit sick. When the woman kisses her wife out of relief, Toji chucks a pinecone at them. He misses on purpose, but the tiny laugh it earns from Gojo gets Toji through the rest of the day.

He’s been slacking too much on duties around the house. On the third day in a row of cereal for lunch and takeout for dinner, and another of Nanami bringing over a home-cooked meal with a scowl, Toji decides he needs to at least stock up on groceries. For Maki, if nothing else.

He decides to venture into the large supermarket in the busier part of the suburbs. It’s crowded in the store, more so than usual for the middle of a weekday. Toji throws a few vegetables into his basket without really looking at them: Nanami demanded that he eat a leaf at least once a day, and Toji didn’t really feel like arguing with that. 

The corporate world really did a number on the kid. He’s got an arsenal of negotiation tactics sharper than Toji’s weapon stash, and his last resort is throwing enough big words at Toji to force him to agree. Toji hasn’t been doing terribly well in the whole pride department lately, but he’d still rather just accept Nanami’s demands than admit he needs definitions. He knows Nanami knows. It’s an exploitation of his stubbornness.

Goddamn capitalism.

Nanami wasn’t nearly as upset with him after the fight as Toji worried he would be. Rather, he’d insisted that he would’ve been more pissed off if Toji hadn’t beaten Suguru up after what he did.

Toji’s almost through aisle four when someone steps out in front of him.

Toji staggers back, met with a glare so icy he temporarily forgets it’s still technically summer. The boy is wearing dark, baggy clothes, long hair tumbling over his shoulders, half-tied back in a bun messy enough to prove he still hasn’t fully recovered since Toji royally fucked up his arm.

“You!” Toji shouts.

“Shh!” Suguru commands, gesturing Toji to lower his voice. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Oh, you don't want me to make a scene?!” Toji hisses. “You’re the one who tried to kill me on a public beach!”

“That was weeks ago,” Suguru snaps. He has the audacity to roll his eyes. “You’re not easy to track down. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have ya?” Toji taunts, rolling up his sleeves. “What, twenty broken bones weren’t enough for ya? Well, happy to oblige your request for more. How about I take a limb this time?”

Suguru flinches, but otherwise ignores the provocation. How boring. “I have a lot of questions for you, and you’re going to give me all of the answers I want.”

“Am I?” Toji cackles. “Well, this’ll be fun. Do your worst, asshole.”

Suguru folds his arms indignantly. “How the hell are you still alive?”

Toji taps a finger against his chin. “Pass.”

“You can’t pass!”

“Says who?”

“Says me, you--” He cuts himself off, clamping down on his tongue as he realizes how little time it took for Toji to get him to raise his voice. 

Toji smirks triumphantly. “I gotta say, your interrogation strategy’s about as good as your parenting one.”

“My daughters are fine,” Suguru insists. “I give them everything they could ever want and more.”

“Y’know, except a moral compass.”

“I’m only teaching them the truth.”

“Has anyone ever told ya that you’re literally insane?”

Suguru huffs and turns up his nose. “I wouldn’t expect a monkey to understand.”

“Gojo wouldn’t.”

And that one actually gets to him. Suguru makes a face like he’s been stung by a scorpion, deadly poison spreading further throughout his veins with each pump of his blackened heart. “I know more about Satoru than you ever could.”

Toji drums his fingers against his hip. “I don’t think that ya do.”

“Oh, really?” Suguru mocks. “Alright, then. What’s his favorite color?”

“Orange.”

Suguru scoffs. “That was a trick question. He doesn’t have a favorite color.”

“It’s the opposite of blue.”

Suguru tenses, as if he should’ve thought of that. Hah. Victory. 

A taut silence stretches between the two of them. Toji taps his foot impatiently; a bead of frustrated sweat traces down Suguru’s temple until it disappears into those stupid bangs. A string of sickening insults swells in Toji’s throat like gulped-down vomit. Suguru shoves his hands into his pockets, determined not to break first.

Then the rubber band snaps, and Suguru speaks anyway. “Stay away from him, you almost killed him in the past!”

“Jackass, you broke his heart!”

“How is my thing worse?!”

“Because unlike you, I’m actually trying to make it up to him!” Toji says, and Suguru winces. “He was all alone after you left. He didn’t have anyone to protect him!”

“Satoru doesn’t need anyone to protect him,” Suguru grumbles. “He’s the strongest.”

Toji smacks his forehead with his palm. “Oh my god, eat shit.”

“Fuck you!”

“Ooh, nice one. You really got me there.”

Suguru grits his teeth. “If you’re his partner,” he sneers, and it looks like it physically pains him to say that, “then you’re fully aware of how strong he is. Satoru is a one-man army!”

“No,” Toji exhales. “He’s just a kid.”

It’s the second time Toji’s had to make this point with one of Gojo’s former classmates, and Suguru’s reaction is far worse than the first. He sways on his feet, staggers like a building on the verge of collapse, then his scowl congeals and melts into horror. 

“You--you're the only one who could say that,” Suguru grouses, voice raspy and raw from wounded pride. “You’re the only one with strength that can scratch his, and this is the conclusion you’ve reached? How am I supposed to deal with that?!”

“How the hell should I know? You figure it out!” Toji demands. “Didn’t you know everything about him once? How could you not understand that?!”

“Things are different now!” Suguru tells him, and nice, that’s a real strong argument. “You weren’t there. You didn’t watch how much he changed. How much he accomplished . I told him before I left that my goal wouldn’t be impossible if he pursued it.” Suguru shakes his head, his unkempt hair rustling against his shoulders. “He never even answered me that day in Shinjuku when I asked him if he’s the strongest because he’s Satoru Gojo or if he’s Satoru Gojo because he’s the strongest.” Suguru’s brows crinkle in frustration, and Toji can’t tell if it’s towards Gojo, Toji, or even himself. “He can do things that can’t be done by anyone else.”

Toji elects to ignore most of that statement. He’s got better things to do than talk back to someone with the listening skills of a brick wall. “I’ve seen Unlimited Void, if that’s what you’re talkin’ about. It really ain’t shit when you take into account that he can’t even fry an egg.”

“Unlimited Void?” Suguru repeats, a wistful twinge to his words. “He perfected it?”

“Perfected is a strong word,” Toji says with a casual shrug, even though it’s close to the truth. “I broke out of it just fine.”

Suguru huffs out a bitter laugh. “How is that even possible?”

Toji’s not really sure either, but his mouth slips into a sly smirk anyway, just to rub salt in the wound. “What, like it’s hard?”

Bingo. That does it. The brat makes a face as if skewered through the chest. “You could never understand,” he sputters. “It’s like-- fuck , there’s nothing I can even compare it to. Not everything feels like something else. Why is it you who’s reached his level? You’re just so-- so--”

Then Suguru clamps his jaw shut with a nauseated grimace, looking absolutely green in the face. He rushes off faster than Gojo can teleport, and Toji stands in baffled silence until Suguru returns a few minutes later, wiping a thin trail of saliva from the dip of his chin.

“Jeez, you really got sick just from lookin’ at me?” Toji taunts. “And here I thought I was pretty easy on the eyes.”

“Shut up. It just happens sometimes,” Suguru snaps. “Fun side effect of swallowing disgusting, hyper-saturated black holes of every negative emotion ever created.” He straightens his posture in a pointless attempt to salvage whatever dignity he mistakenly believes he still possesses. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“I’m not weak.”

“I never said that you were.” Toji rolls down his sleeves, realizing it’s long overdue. “I get it. Strength always comes at the cost of something. You already know what Gojo’s strength cost him, don’t ya? The real question is, are ya ever gonna realize that one of those things was you?”

Suguru pulls a face. “What are you talking about?”

“Seriously? Don’t play dumb. You already know what you mean to him.”

“Mean,” Suguru repeats, eyes comically wide.

Ah. Whoops. Present tense.

Suguru flinches, as if it was something he already knew but is trying to forget. Toji’s seen dead bodies on a few of his and Gojo’s missions, but even those looked more alive than the look in Suguru’s eyes.

“What the hell does he see in you?” Toji growls. “Y’know what? I officially don’t approve.”

Suguru yanks on the roots of his frazzled hair. “I don’t fucking care!” he shouts, and that turns more than a few heads. “Who the hell would need the approval of the almost-murderer, pseudo-father figure of someone they’re not even dating?!”

Toji arches an eyebrow. “Gettin’ awful worked up for someone who doesn’t care.”

The sorcerer gulps down a sound of frustration, drawing in a sharp breath to compose himself. “I couldn’t care less what you think of me.”

Toji’s got a funny feeling that isn’t nearly as true as either of them want it to be. Just to hammer the final nail in the coffin, Toji declares: “You’re not good enough for him.”

Suguru’s shoulders shake with a sad laugh, and he clutches his shirt over the gruesome X that Toji carved into his chest. “Don’t you think I know that?” 

Toji refuses to feel guilty for that. Even though his stomach is clearly trying to convince him otherwise. “Bet that left a real pretty scar, huh? Poetic.”

At least their scars aren’t matching. The more differences there are between them, the better. Toji can’t explain why he thinks there might be far fewer of those than he’d like to believe. 

Suguru thrusts his hand back into his pocket. “You’re incorrigible. How do you live with yourself?”

“You’re projecting.”

Suguru looks away. Called it. 

But he doesn’t stay quiet for long. “Would you have killed me?” he asks out of the blue. “If you hadn’t met Satoru and I came at you with murderous intent, would you still have held back? Or would you have killed me?”

The question steals the breath from the gap between Toji’s lungs, collapsing his chest under the weight of its answer. He doesn’t reply.

“Answer me,” Suguru demands. “You would have killed me, wouldn’t you?”

It’s phrased like a question, but it isn’t one. Suguru looks like he’d only accept one response.

“I--I don't know,” Toji exhales. There would’ve been no reason to allow him to live. Especially since Suguru would’ve wanted to kill Maki. “Probably.”

“Yeah,” Suguru spits, glaring at him with false righteous judgment, a priest ready to burn a witch at the stake. “That’s what I thought.”

Toji digs his nails in half-moons onto his sweaty palms. “Listen, you--”

“You,” Suguru repeats bitterly. “Did you ever even know my name? Or was it only Satoru you had to worry about?”

Well, ain’t that a loaded question. “Are you kiddin’? I still worry about that guy. You know he stuck his hand in a blender the other day? Said it was for a science experiment. I had to take it away before he turned it on.”

“It’s not like it would’ve hurt him,” Suguru mumbles. “He has Limitless.”

Toji slants him a grimace. “So? It was still stupid. You think that just because he’s strong, nothing can hurt him?” He marches down the aisle to jab a finger into Suguru’s chest. “Aren’t you living proof that isn’t true?”

Suguru recoils back at the sudden contact. “That’s different!”

“Is it?!” Toji bites back. Reverse Cursed Technique can heal scars left on his body, but not wounds cut into his soul. “And I do know your name. Suguru.”

The sorcerer’s expression morphs into one of mortified, unrestrained fury, those galaxy-colored eyes bursting into supernovas. “How dare a monkey call me by my given name.”

Yeah, Toji doesn’t even know his last one. Nor does he care to find out.

“Suguru,” Toji repeats. “Sugurusugurusuguru--”

“Are you five?!”

Before Toji can retort back, a little old lady tries to scoot past him into the aisle, staring at them both with a frown of concern that accentuates her wrinkles. 

Though he’d rather not listen to anything Suguru says, it really would be best not to make a scene. Ah, shit. Toji’s never been good at de- escalating situations. His specialty is pretty much strictly the opposite.

“Don’t sweat it, ma’am,” he tries to tell her. “Just joking around with my buddy Suguru.”

“God, I hate your fucking guts.”

The little old lady gasps. Toji flicks Suguru on the shoulder, earning him a swat and a scowl.

“He’s just funny like that sometimes.”

Unconvinced, the elderly woman shuffles away. Toji turns back around even more annoyed than before, and he didn’t think that was possible, but Suguru’s somehow beat his own world record.

“Now look what you did, asshole.”

“That was your fault!”

“In what universe?!”

Suguru charges a bold step forward. “Now you listen to me, Zen’in--”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that. It ain’t Zen’in,” Toji spits, and if this fucker is gonna be like this, then Toji can mess with him too. “It’s Tsukumo.”

Suguru scrunches his nose. “What the hell?”

“Yeah, I took my wife’s last name. Yuki Tsukumo. Maybe you’ve heard of her.”

Suguru stumbles back. “She’s your wife?!”

Toji shrugs. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Impossible,” Suguru breathes, eyes unfocused, as if he’s trying to calculate a mental equation and keeps getting stuck on the wrong answer. “How could a special grade sorcerer marry a monkey?”

Toji’s lips tug into a devilish smirk. “I’d show ya, but I feel like it’d be rude to drop my pants in public.”

Suguru’s face twists into something so sour it’s like his blood has been turned into lemon juice. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting. Do you ever cringe at your own internal monologue? If I had to listen to you all day I think I’d vacuum my brain out through my nose with a bendy straw.”

Toji tries to cook up a witty response to that, but instead all he can think of is: “That’s weirdly specific.”

“What can I say?” Suguru deadpans. “Your complete and utter idiocy strikes me with inspiration.”

“Hey, you’ve got a real talent for makin’ everything you say sound like an insult.”

Suguru picks up a nearby box of pasta and starts reading the label out loud in such a spiteful and vitriolic tone that Toji almost feels insulted by a list of ingredients.

“Y'know, I want to be mad at ya for this, but I gotta admit I’m impressed. Never heard spaghetti sound like it wanted to kill me before.”

Suguru glowers. “Believe me, it wants to.” He whams it back onto the shelf with far too much force, spilling its contents onto the scuffed tile floor.

Toji points at the mess. “Oi, you better pay for that. What’s that saying? ‘You break it, you buy it,’ right?”

Suguru attempts to kick it under the shelf, but most of the pieces just end up pulverizing further. “Where is this newfound sense of morality from?”

“Don’t ask me, I don’t make the rules! Besides, it’s rude to the employees!”

“Why do you care about being rude?”

“I don’t!” Toji returns. “But Nanami would totally kick my ass if I--”

“Nanami?” Suguru interrupts in a small voice, all color blanching from his already ghostly face. “What did you do to him?”

“Huh? I didn’t do anything to him,” Toji denies, then pauses, considering. “Ah! Are you talkin’ about that time I almost puked all over his shoes at the amusement park? I didn’t do it! I held it in out of sheer willpower!”

“How could you possibly think I’d be referring to that?!”

Toji flails his arms. “I don’t know, maybe because it’s the only thing I could think of!” he insists. “Nanami and I have gotten along since the day we met!”

Yeah, he’s not sure Nanami would agree with that one. Eh, best not to check. Toji’s never had a problem with being delusional.

“Are you kidding?” Suguru returns, looking equal parts hurt and confused. “There’s no way that’s possible. He left jujutsu society to get away from people like you!”

Toji sets his jaw. “Actually, I’m pretty sure he left jujutsu society to get away from people like you.”

Suguru makes a face like he’s been slapped, but doesn’t follow it with a denial. “What would you know about his motivations?”

“I know tons of shit about Nanami!” Toji declares, preparing to count his vast knowledge on his fingers. “I know where he buys all of his goddamn identical work clothes, what coffee he drinks depending on which boss he’s meeting with that morning, when his son’s birthday is--”

“His--his what?” Suguru repeats. “He has a son?”

“Yeah, he adopted one a few months back,” Toji confirms. Not that it was ever official. “Cute kid. They spend all their free time together. Nanami really loves him.”

Suguru’s hard expression falters. “I didn’t know that.”

“Funny, how runnin’ out on the people you care about means you miss important stuff that happens in their lives.”

Nothing Toji has said so far today has had the sheer impact on Suguru as that statement. His bleak expression is hurt, anguished, tainted with something neither of them would want to call regret. They stand there in uncomfortable silence for a ridiculously long time, and eventually Toji decides he’s had more than enough of this conversation. He storms away, leaving Suguru behind him.

But doesn’t have the chance to escape, when seconds later hesitant yet determined footsteps grow louder behind him. Toji whirls around when Suguru catches up to him beside the ice cream. “Listen, kid. This grocery store freezer section ain't big enough for the both of us.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“You are. And before your feathers get all ruffled, that’s not an insult. I’m just stating a fact.”

“It’s not a fact, I’m almost twenty.”

“Big whoop. You’re still half my age.”

Suguru studies him with a scrutinizing glare. “How old are you?”

How bad is it that Toji kind of forgets? “That’s none of your business.”

“You don’t know, do you?”

Can this brat not read him so easily? It’s just plain rude. Gojo told him once, but that present he gave Maki shortly after surprised Toji enough to glaze over most of the conversation. “Of course I know. But I’m not answerin’ any of your questions. I’ve got no more time for someone so insignificant to me.”

Suguru’s nostrils flare, eyebrows shooting dangerously to his hairline. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, it’s so,” Toji replies, even though that’s mostly a lie. Unfortunately, anyone significant to Gojo is significant to Toji by extension. “You didn’t take up any of my brain space before, and I’d really like it to stay that way.”

Suguru lets out a crazed laugh. “So you remembered him but not me?” Something in his voice is so, so bitter. “Fucking classic.”

“I didn’t remember anyone, you self-important asshole. That’s pretty much the entire definition of amnesia.”

Suguru’s pupils dilate owlishly. “Of what?”

Well. Fuck. Toji and his big fat mouth.

“...ignore that.”

Yeah, that doesn’t work. Suguru’s lips stretch into a mischievous smirk. “Interesting,” he hums. “I can work with that.”

Toji rolls his eyes. “Fantastic. I look forward to workin’ with ya.”

“Oh, you should.”

“I got one piece of advice for you, though.”

“And what’s that?”

“Go jump in a fucking lake.”

Suguru gasps in mocking outrage. “How uncouth.”

Like he’s one to talk. “Right back at ya, bastard. Guess your parents forgot to teach you manners, too.”

The muscles in Suguru’s face tighten. “Don’t talk about my parents.”

“That’d be convenient for ya, wouldn’t it?” Toji sneers. “Would it be easier that way to ignore your cardinal sin? You killed your father. What did he do to deserve that?”

Suguru shrugs. “Nothing. Everything. He was a monkey.”

Is it too late to go back on Toji’s decision not to throttle this guy? “Yeah, bet that logic really helped your mother understand why you murdered her husband.”

Suguru brushes him off. “I never needed it. I killed her first.”

Now it’s Toji’s turn to feel like he’s about to throw up. “Y’know, I’m not claimin’ to be a psychiatrist, but there is something seriously wrong with you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps back, though it’s not entirely convincing. Before Toji can call him out on it, he continues, “I have a new family now. They’re all I need.” He narrows his celestial gaze into dark matter slits. “But Satoru doesn’t need the one he has.”

“No way,” Toji hisses, wondering if Suguru knows about Gojo’s children. Somehow, he gets the strange feeling that he probably doesn’t. “How could you even say that? You know what happened to his father.”

Suguru grinds his teeth. “You’re not his father.”

The words strike Toji like a blow to the chest. 

He wasn’t talking about Gojo’s children, Toji realizes. He was talking about me.

Obviously, a mocking voice tells him from the hollowness where any of his organs should be. But if Suguru can cast judgment upon him, then so can Toji.

“Yeah, maybe not,” Toji sneers, then something dark and ugly and hateful surges up his throat that tastes like stomach fluid and burns like battery acid when he concludes, “but you’re not his friend.”

It’s messed up that Toji’s proud Suguru looks like he’s about to cry. “I don’t care,” he chokes, and Toji doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything less sincere in his entire life.

“That’s a lie,” Toji declares, and Suguru flinches. “I still don’t get it. How could you leave him behind?”

Suguru’s brows pinch in unease. “You truly do care about him, don’t you?”

“What part of ‘he’s like a son to me’ didn’t you get?!”

“All of it!” Suguru shouts. For all he claimed he didn’t want to make a scene, he doesn’t seem to give a shit that almost the entire store is looking at him now. “How could he just accept you into his life like that?! There’s no way he’d ever want to stand beside such a monster!”

Alright, that’s it. “And yet, he wants to stand beside you.”

Suguru briefly covers his face with his hand in a last-ditch attempt to hide his shame. “I’m not a monster,” he insists, but the words barely make it out of the cave in his throat. “I’m only doing what’s necessary.”

Toji shakes his head. What more can he even say? “You’re fucking crazy.”

Suguru’s arm falls back to his side, and now he just looks tired, far too tired for someone his age. You don’t understand, he’s probably thinking, but they’re both long past just repeating themselves. Half this argument has been about someone who’s not even here, and that’s without considering the fact that Toji’s about 80% sure this guy is in love with Gojo too.

Suguru squeezes his fists. “Don’t you get it?! This is for him!”

Okay, scratch that. 100% sure.

Suguru flushes. “I--I mean, it’s for all sorcerers. There would be no more constantly killing ourselves over thankless jobs, dropping like flies for monkeys who don’t even know we’re sacrificing everything for their carelessness. Satoru’s strength means he’s never allowed a single break. He’s going to work himself into an early grave if this pace keeps up! If I made a world of only sorcerers, he could finally rest.”

That’s the most convoluted logic Toji has ever heard. “He wouldn’t want to rest if this is how it happened!”

“It’s not about what he wants, it’s about what’s best for him!”

“You don’t know a thing about what’s best for him!”

“And neither do you!” Suguru insists. “My goal is bigger than the both of us. If he hates me for it, then that’s fine. As long as I can see him happy from a distance, I’ll do anything.”

Holy shit. He’s really in love.

What’d Gojo say that one time? ‘ You can only save people who are willing to be saved.’  

Well, Toji’s gonna make Suguru willing to be saved, if it’s the last thing goddamn he ever does. Maybe not today, but someday, he’s going to drag this asshole back to Gojo and make him apologize for everything he’s done.

And with that, Toji spins on his heels and marches off, leaving the sorcerer alone behind him. 

Suguru doesn’t follow.

-----------------------

Getou trudges home from the supermarket feeling sick in more ways than one.

It’s bad enough that the trip taught him nothing but nonsense, that a quest to answer any of his countless questions about Toji only left him with a thousand more. He’s been teetering on the edge of a little bit of hysteria ever since the fight, and every attempt he’s made to find rhyme or reason to it has only pushed him closer to the brink.

And he’s dangerously close to the precipice now, one foot on a crumbling cliff and the other over a bottomless canyon, one fingertip left to keep him from slipping off a window’s ledge. It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make sense, and even though less and less even does these days it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as this.

The argument gave him much to ponder later, but for now, the two most important things in his life are waiting for him.

At least he got one good thing out of the trip.

“Hello, girls!” he calls as he pushes through the sturdy cherrywood door and into the sprawling entryway of the house. “I’m home. And I brought you something!”

He glances down into the grocery bag. Okay, several somethings. He removes his shoes and places them neatly beside the mat in the foyer, then strolls into the kitchen to meet the sound of tiny footsteps padding into the room.

“Welcome home, Dad!” Nanako greets, with Mimiko close in tow. “Ooh, what’s in the bag?”

Getou rummages around in the plastic and fishes out a pastel array of pastries, then places them on proud display atop the marble counter. His daughters stare at them hungrily with sparkling eyes.

“Whoa, cupcakes?” Nanako exclaims. “And donuts! Thank you so much!”

Mimiko nods in enthusiastic agreement. She’s been quieter, lately. Nanako’s had no trouble compensating, but it still dims Getou’s grin a few watts. The girls pop open the packages and dig in right away.

They love sweets almost as much as Satoru does. Getou can’t decide if that’s comforting or heartbreaking.

Still queasy, Getou opts for a glass of seltzer to soothe his stomach. It certainly doesn’t help that he spent the morning swallowing a horde of monkeys’ curses that left his guts churning and a foul taste on his tongue, exacerbating the nausea that viscerally manifested during his confrontation with the Sorcerer Killer. If he’s even still called that anymore. Fucking--whatever.

He didn’t kill you, an unhelpful voice in the back of his mind supplies. Getou tries to ignore it and isn’t particularly successful.

He drags himself by the ankles out of his reverie. His girls have decimated the desserts at frightening speed, like usual. They’ve been with him for years, but he still hasn’t gotten used to how quickly they eat. Like they think the food will be taken away from them if they don’t shovel it in their mouths fast enough.

Getou gulps down a long swig of seltzer to avoid feeling sick again.

“What have you girls been up to today?” he asks, in an effort to change the subject he hasn’t even voiced aloud. 

“We’ve been playing in the back,” Mimiko replies softly. She wipes a dab of pink frosting from the tip of her nose. Ah, she’s so precious. “We were building something from the stones in the dry creekbed.” She shuffles her feet sheepishly, gaze wedged in the spaces between the slats of the rustic wooden floor. “Do you want to see?”

“Of course,” he hums, scooping her into his arms and propping her in the crook of his good elbow. Nanako claims she’s a big kid now and has grown out of being held like this, but Mimiko still finds comfort in it. Sue him for doing this for as long as he can. He glances down at Nanako. “Lead the way.”

Nanako skips ahead, traipsing through the living room and excitedly casting open the translucent sliding tatami doors to the backyard. It spans the landscape ahead of them as far as the eye can see. After taking them in, he quickly learned that the girls prefer wide, open spaces: an instinctive reaction against the severe claustrophobia they’d developed due to spending the first few years of their lives locked in a cage. 

So naturally, the first thing he did when he’d collected enough money from the religious group is buy them a huge fucking house. Getting lost in the endless maze of rooms on their inaugural day in the traditional-style estate is one of his first happy memories since leaving Jujutsu Tech.

He follows Nanako leisurely throughout the terrain, Crystal Dragon trilling happily overhead. Getou’s never been one to get attached to his curses -- he thinks it’s inappropriate, really -- but his daughters both love her. If Toji had exorcised her during their fight, they’d never have forgiven him. Getou thought about releasing the dragon so the girls wouldn’t be hurt if something ever happened to her, but as soon as he saw her eat someone alive who’d thrown a rock at his daughters he decided against it.

Still, why couldn’t they have asked for a dog or a cat?

“Look!” Nanako says once they reach the creek, presenting their stone creation to him with pride. It’s...a tower? A birdhouse? A horse? Getou truly cannot tell. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“Super awesome,” he replies anyway. Mimiko squirms, so he sets her down on the ground beside her sister. 

“Wanna help us finish it?” Nanako requests.

It’s definitely too late now to ask what it is. Oh, well. He’ll figure it out on the fly. Despite the cold, composed leader persona he’s adopted since fleeing the school, he’s still winging it about half of the time. He’s found it comes with the whole ‘runaway teen dad’ thing.

“Count me in,” he replies. Mimiko passes him a handful of rocks and he crouches down in front of their structure. He decides he’ll just make a moat around it. See? Problem solving.

Nanako and Mimiko continue their work, chatting amongst themselves as they build the structure into a somehow even less discernible abstract mass. The dragon observes them from high above, then eventually touches down beside the old wooden bridge as she presumably becomes cross with the lack of attention. Nanako and Mimiko skip over to her, their masterpiece temporarily forgotten.

It takes him a second to figure out what they’re doing. Getou scrubs his temples with his palms; god, he can’t believe he has to say this. “Girls, please stop feeding the dragon gravel.”

“But she likes it!” Mimiko insists.

“Hang on!” Nanako says. “If Sakura is made out of crystals, is feeding her rocks cannibalism?”

Getou doesn’t even know where to start with that. “Sakura?”

“It’s a cute name, right?” Nanako replies, which really doesn’t answer his question. “It’s from an anime Larue showed us.”

Right, the new sorcerer that recently joined his group. He’s...eccentric, to put it mildly. Getou really wishes he’d at least wear a shirt. “I suppose,” he sighs, then stares up at the massive curse, the fractals of her prismatic body glinting a kaleidoscope of colors as it slices the beams of dying sunlight into rainbow stripes. “Are you two sure you don’t want a cat or something?”

Mimiko looks away. “But then you couldn’t play with it.”

Getou frowns. They sound like Satoru now. It only took about a month for him to go from teasing Getou for animals’ hatred of him to just being mopey over it. He tried to hold down a cat once so Getou could try to pet it, but it just ended up scratching the hell out of both of them. 

Annoyed at his attempt to replace her, Crystal Dragon makes an irritated sound. “Don’t look at me like that,” Getou snaps, as she continues to look at him like that. “Go fetch.”

Getou picks up a nearby stick and chucks it into oblivion. The dragon’s eyes follow it before returning back to him. 

He sighs. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. 

She sneezes ashy sand that gets all over Getou and somehow none on his daughters.

“I’m going to exorcise you someday,” he deadpans, with no real heat behind it. He recalls her back into his body as his daughters both protest. 

He lifts the thin cotton hem of his shirt to wipe the sand from his face, trying to get as clean as possible -- which is to say, not very. “Why don’t we go inside?” he suggests. The sun’s curtain call has brought with it an evening chill, nipping at his skin in its final bow. Grumbling, Nanako and Mimiko both agree half-heartedly, trailing close behind him like little ducklings as he returns to the cozy warmth of the house.

It’s not quite dinnertime, so he allows the girls to lead him into one of their many playrooms. This one is filled with delicate dolls decked out in frilly gowns, complete with matching plastic castles; chiffon curtains stain the dim light still filtering in with shades of lilac, leaving grid-like shadows on the plush carpet. 

When they first saw these dolls in a shop window while he and his daughters had been strolling through town, they’d gazed at them wide-eyed with wonder, musing under their breath that a girl from their old village had possessed one. Apparently, she’d often taunt them with it, mocking them with cruel declarations that she’d never share her toys with such monsters. So Getou had gone right into the store and bought out the whole stock.  

...okay, so they’re a little spoiled. But who can blame him for that?

When Getou tucks his legs beneath him to sit down on the floor, Nanako and Mimiko exchange an apprehensive glance before Mimiko nudges her sister to encourage her to do--something. Getou can’t tell what.

“Dad,” Nanako begins hesitantly, picking up a doll from a nearby shelf. “Uh--we accidentally tore her dress earlier.” She nervously presents it to him. “Can you help us fix it?”

No matter how much he showers them with love and affection, they have yet to stop feeling guilty asking him for things. He can only pray that someday they’ll eventually grow out of it. “Of course, sweetheart.”

He accepts the doll, then pushes to his feet to retrieve a sewing kit from the cabinet. He’s not great at it, but he’s steadily improving by way of necessity. He gingerly begins to mend the fabric, knitting his brows in mild frustration as the silk keeps slipping between his fingers. He’s barely able to suppress an ouch when he pricks himself with the needle. A tiny bead of blood crowns on his fingertip.

This is the side of himself he will never allow the cult to see. There’s still monkey blood under his nails from earlier in the day.

“There,” he says when he’s finished, swiftly wiping the smear of red blotting his finger onto his dark pants. “All fixed.”

The girls both thank him with a hug, tackling him to the ground in a fit of giggles. “You’re the best, Dad!” Nanako declares.

A soft grin stretches across his features as they each nestle into a shoulder. Ah. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this.

He plays with them for a while longer, then retires to the kitchen when their stomachs begin to growl. Cooking is something he’s always been good at, though his skills exponentially improved during his short time in high school. It was a byproduct of Satoru’s complete and utter failure to successfully navigate a kitchen. 

‘I’ve seen Unlimited Void, if that’s what you’re talkin’ about,’ rings Toji’s voice in his ears. ‘It really ain’t shit when you take into account that he can’t even fry an egg.’

Getou frowns at the skillet.

Once dinner is on the table and his daughters have scarfed it down, the three of them make their way into the living room and clump together on the couch.

“Dad?” Mimiko asks quietly. “Will you please start teaching us how to fight soon?”

They've been asking this every day since they ran into Toji, his daughter, and that other child on the beach. After they’d finally calmed down when Getou was patched up by Toshihisa, another new addition to his group with above-average healing abilities that pale in comparison to Shoko’s, they’d shamefully admitted how easily they’d been defeated at the hands of the two others. 

No, he wants to say, because they’re far too young for that, especially for all the hell they’ve been dragged through. I can protect you, he thinks, then a dark voice inside him cruelly reminds him of his recent failures to do so. Sometimes, he wishes he could be more honest with them; but he wants them to hold onto the comforting belief that his strength is absolute, that he can protect them from anything without lifting a finger. 

Curse Toji for proving him wrong.

“...I need to think about it.”

“You keep saying that,” Nanako complains. “How long do you need to think for?”

How about a few years? is his knee-jerk response. “I don’t know,” is the one he says aloud. “Please be patient.”

The girls grumble at that, but don’t argue further. Getou hasn’t been terribly keen on watching television since deserting the school, so he withdraws a storybook from the storage compartment in the ottoman and begins to read to them. His girls listen with enamored attention as he acts out the lines of dialogue in animated, character-specific voices; he’s really gotten quite good at it. Once he reaches a good stopping point in the chapter, he slides a floral bookmark between the pages and rests it back in its original place for safekeeping.

“It’s getting late,” he says, and Mimiko follows that with a yawn. “We should get to bed.”

The girls each have their own rooms, but they no longer use them for sleeping. In the beginning, he’d rushed into their rooms in the middle of the night to comfort them from night terrors far too often for it to be practical to make them sleep alone. The sheer number of times he’s woken up to the muffled weeping of one of his daughters makes him wish he could slaughter their village all over again.

Nanako’s nightmares are getting better, but Mimiko’s might be getting worse. It’s an uphill battle.

After they’ve changed into their pajamas, his daughters follow him to his room, socks dragging against the floor in their sleepy gait. They flop onto his king-sized bed the moment they enter; when they first met, they told him they couldn’t even remember the last time they’d slept in a bed, let alone a Western-style one. It clashes with the traditional architecture of the house, but they’d fallen in love with this type of bedframe when the hotel they stayed in after he took them from the village had it, and that was that.

He lifts his favorite comb from his nightstand and begins brushing through Mimiko’s hair, humming softly. It’s difficult to do with only one hand, but even with Toshihisa’s assistance his left arm still hasn’t fully recovered since Toji snapped the bones in two. Fucking bastard.

Once he’s finished detangling both of his daughters’ hair, he crawls between them to his frankly ridiculous pile of pillows and slips beneath the covers, tucking all three of them in. Despite the size of the bed, it’s still a tight fit, thanks to the girls’ restless sleeping and tendencies to fully stretch out their bodies to take up far more space than such tiny humans should be capable of.

It’s probably for the best that Getou doesn’t have a third kid. There’d be no room left on the bed for him.

“Goodnight, girls,” he murmurs as they each cuddle into his sides. “Sleep well.”

“You too, Dad,” Nanako replies. She curls her fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. “Love you.”

He rakes his fingers absently through her soft golden hair. “I love you too.”

The girls have never had trouble falling asleep; staying asleep is the true struggle, but he’s improved at lulling them back to it in the event of past trauma stealing it away from them. He can usually manage it after an hour of holding them close, muttering pacifying comforts of ‘it’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you,’ until they either calm down or pass back out from exhaustion. 

As for Getou himself -- sleep is a rare commodity these days. In the dark moments when he’s half-conscious and his convictions still falter, he wonders what right he has to be a father after killing his own. On the worst of nights, his dreams switch the positions of Getou with his daughters, and Getou’s father with himself. In those illusions there is no love left in their icy voices, as his beloved angels declare that this is where it all ends. He wonders, if that ever happens, if he’d even have it in him to defend himself. He can’t fathom a world in which he’d ever be able to raise a hand against them.

He’ll never be able to forget his father’s last words for the rest of his life. They were a curse. He’s sure of it. There’s no other way to explain just how much they haunt him.

And right now that’s the least of his worries among the ghosts of his past. 

Every time he tries to put a word to the emotions he felt upon seeing Toji’s face again, his attempts fall miserably short. For a brief, petrifying moment, Getou truly thought he had died and gone to hell. The world had blacked out, and all that remained was the sound of a gunshot. The disturbingly wet smack of an innocent body crumpling onto the ground.

He didn't think the battle with Toji would go like that. Truthfully, he still doesn't know what he’d expected, but when Toji came plunging out of the water leaving behind a wake of leviathan entrails, Getou just couldn't imagine winning against him, ever. It was only due to Toji’s twisted sense of mercy that he ended up surviving at all. 

How pathetic. Getou is still alive not because he’s The Strongest, but because the two people in the world capable of killing him both refuse to do so.

How the fuck is Toji alive? Getou saw his fucking body. Satoru’s awakened power had wasted him to nothing more than a gruesome splat on the pavement. He should have died. He should have died. He deserved to.

And yet, he appeared before Getou again with that signature cocky grin, even if there’s something a little different about it that Getou can’t quite place. It’s something like conviction, and it doesn’t have any right to be on his face. Where is that empty shell of a man Getou faced back then?

Forgotten, apparently. Getou wonders how it happened. How convenient. How fortunate. How disgustingly unfair. Must be nice, to be able to look in the mirror and not see the reflections of his countless victims staring back, clawing vengefully at the glass as they reach for his neck.

...not that Getou would know.

Somehow, that isn’t even what hurts the most. After he’d fled Jujutsu Tech, he had little doubt that the place beside Satoru would remain vacant. Truthfully, he isn’t even sure it was ever his to begin with, no matter how much he’d once deluded himself that they were the strongest together. But if he knew that his defection would send Satoru to the side of that monster, then he never would’ve-- he never would’ve--

No. He cannot allow himself that kind of thinking. 

It’s his own fault this went over his head. Since Getou left, he’s strictly forbidden himself from even the slightest investigation as to what Satoru is up to. Getou’s mind is made up, and he will not allow the one person with the tiny chance to change it the ability to try. Satoru could’ve left the jujutsu world, for all he knows. He could’ve even adopted kids like Getou and apparently Nanami have.

Well. That last one is unlikely. Satoru always hated children. It would have to take some very special ones to get him to change his mind about that.

Is Toji tricking Satoru? It’s an easy conclusion, but an unlikely one; Satoru isn’t nearly as gullible as most people believe him to be. Getou can still remember the two of them staying up late in his dorm room back in second year, high off dreams and hopes for their future, brainstorming ways for Satoru to be strategically underestimated. 

Even in its improbability, the possibility is entirely ruled out by the fact that Nanami has somehow found himself associated with Toji, too. Kento Nanami. Wise, logical, good-natured Nanami, who became so disillusioned with the bleakness of jujutsu society that he turned around and left it. Getou has always thought that out of anyone, Nanami would be the one person who could somewhat understand why he became a curse user. 

But apparently not. Getou knows something in Nanami died alongside Haibara that day. But now he’s even less sure what. After what happened to Nanami’s best friend, how Toji was still able to win him over is beyond the scope of human understanding. Has everyone else besides Getou forgotten that Toji was known as the Sorcerer Killer for a reason?

They’re just replacing one murderer with another, a mocking voice taunts inside him. Getou flops his arm over his still-closed eyes, blocking out the last vestiges of moonlight pouring in through the window. Before he can stop himself, he mumbles to his ceiling:

“I wish I could meet Nanami’s son.”

And within that lies the fatal blow to whatever pitiful charred remains still exist of Getou’s soul. Toji didn’t just call Satoru his partner. He didn’t just say he wanted to protect him, or avoid hurting him, or attain some sort of twisted justice as retribution for Getou leaving him behind.

’I killed Satoru Gojo,’ Toji once said proudly.

And now Toji calls him his son. It makes Getou sick to his stomach.

...very sick, actually. It’s not just the taste of a curse that makes swallowing them repulsive; it’s that agonizingly slow path down his esophagus where he can feel all the negative emotions packed tight within it as it seeps into his nervous system through his blood vessels. Sometimes it’s a single one, undistilled and potent like the caustic burn of gulping down pure grain alcohol, but others it’s a swirling cocktail of pain and misery that leaves him feeling awful and hung over without the thrill of being drunk. And ah, he’s so nauseous now, the back of his throat is aching quite a bit, the muscles in his chest are expanding and contracting with involuntary pangs and--

--he barely makes it to his bathroom before he pukes out his guts.

Fantastic. That’s the second time today. He’s been losing weight again; he’d thought about taking up cigarettes once he was consuming more and more curses, but he didn’t want to expose the girls to secondhand smoke. He pushes shakily to his feet, stumbles over to his sink and splashes his face with cold water. It does nothing. He coughs, and it gives him a bloody nose. 

Weakened by his own ability. Of all the stupid things. 

Getou grips the hem of his cotton shirt and lifts it up, inspecting his new scar in the foggy mirror. It’s some sort of sick irony that he ended up with the exact same scar Toji had nearly given him before. Back then, Shoko had healed him before it could leave a mark. 

Not that he could ask for her help now. He thinks he once read somewhere that doctors have a duty to help every patient, no matter who they are. Strangely, he almost feels like she would’ve done it, had he crawled back to her on his knees after Toji beat him up.

But that would have required him to look her in the eyes.

He can’t help but let out a breathless laugh. He’d managed it, back in Shinjuku, before the reality of his mission and his actions sunk in. 

He doesn’t regret it. It was a necessary sacrifice. There’s no way he could have kept his old bonds with his goals as they are now. Nostalgia is a powerful weapon, and he has no intention to reminisce about the past through rose-colored glasses. Leaving his classmates behind was unfortunate, but essential. He doesn’t need them to understand. 

But Satoru...

That...is unfortunate. What the word inseparable doesn’t tell you is that if you want to be freed of something, you have to rip off a part of yourself in order to do so.

Getou knows how Satoru felt about him; he wasn’t exactly subtle. He made one too many jokes about getting married and running away together for Getou to have any doubts about that. What he never understood was why. But, he thinks he might’ve, in that brief moment when Satoru slammed him against a wall and crashed their lips together, raking his desperate hands to tangle in Getou’s hair as if he never wanted to let go, as if some subconscious part of him knew that he would lose him.

And he did, less than a week later.

Getou heaves a deep sigh that does nothing to ease the collapsing feeling in his chest. He can’t go back to bed now, not like this. Maybe he can walk it off. Then he’ll be able to climb back between his daughters, allowing the warmth from their bodies to heat the ice running through his blood. He slips silently from the bathroom and into the hall.

He eventually finds himself in his study, where he organizes all his paperwork for leading the religious group and his meticulously-written plans for the future. He staggers over to his desk, plops down in his chair like his body is made of lead. He stares at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, and without thinking he unlocks the hidden compartment in the furniture, pulls out a small wooden box, and withdraws its contents.

It was foolish to keep it. He’d stayed up all night writing it after Satoru kissed him, kept it in his pocket for safekeeping so he could give it to Satoru the moment he got home. And it stayed in his pocket, as he slaughtered the entire village, and even though it’s stained with blood he hasn’t yet had the courage to throw it away. It’s a cosmic joke, really. 

With another heavy sigh, Getou unfolds the letter.

‘Satoru--

Oh my god, I can’t believe you just kissed me. You were terrible at it, by the way. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that? Sorry I didn’t do it first. You always used to call me a scaredy-cat back in first year, and I’d always deny it, but I think you might’ve been onto something there. I guess I am a coward, after all. 

I hate that you had to leave for another stupid mission before we even had the chance to talk about it. Yaga didn’t even tell me when you’re supposed to be back. Well, I guess by the time you read this, you’ll already be back. Don’t make fun of me for putting all of this in a letter, idiot. It’s way too embarrassing to say out loud.

I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Satoru. I’m tired. So tired.

Were you being serious, back then? God, I hope you were. Let’s just do it, Satoru. Let’s get married and run away together. I’ll steal my parents’ wedding bands, and you can swipe your clan’s kimonos. 

Let’s go to the airport and take the first flight to anywhere. We can stay in cheap motels and we’ll fix up a junkyard car. And by we, I mean me. No offense, but I don’t think I’d trust you with a wrench, Satoru.

Okay, maybe a little bit of offense.

Let’s go on adventures to everywhere and nowhere. Let’s build our own fireworks and light them on the beach barefoot at midnight. We can laugh all day, and dream all night. I wanna learn what it’s like to be young and broke and stupid. We can finally be kids. Just be kids, and live to make memories.

Let’s get out of this life and leave everything behind. We can turn around and we don’t ever have to look back. I think we can make it, if we really try. As long as we have each other. It doesn’t matter where we are, as long as we’re together. You are my home. 

Until I met you, I didn’t think hope could be a physical thing. I don’t believe in god, but I think you might be an angel, and I don’t know what to thank for bringing you to me. You fill in the broken cracks in my soul with gold.

I’m not certain about much these days, but the one thing I am absolutely sure of is that I love you. I love you, Satoru. Even when I hated you, I think I still loved you. 

I love you so much it scares me sometimes. I’d swallow the sun if it meant you could shine brighter. If this life is killing you, then I’ll die instead. For you, anything.

I don’t care how it ends, as long as it ends with you. I could die in your arms tomorrow and I’d die happy. You’re the only thing that can still make me laugh from the bottom of my heart in this world. Sometimes, I get the feeling that I’m not going to live much longer. But whatever short time I have left, I want to spend it with you.

So marry me, or something.

I love you, Satoru.

Let’s be together. Always.

-Suguru’

He glances down at the two glinting metal circlets still in the box. There was something morbidly beautiful about slipping the rings from his parents’ lifeless bodies, even though he knew that act meant he could never give it to him. 

It’s alright. It’s alright. This will all be worth it if Satoru can rest, even if he never wants to be near Getou again. To see Satoru smiling with all his heart, even if it’s from a distance -- that would be enough. Just once, and that would be all Getou needed. 

Getou rummages around in the drawer and pulls out a matchbox. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s shaking, from how many times it takes to successfully strike the match. He steadies his trembling hands, holds the flame up to the corner of the letter, and--

“Dad?” Nanako’s drowsy voice says from the doorway. “What’s that?”

Getou’s breath hitches. He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out; his throat constricted from the weight of words left unsaid. He sits there for a stupidly long time, acutely aware that he needs to say something, anything. Eventually he manages a slow exhale, only realizing after the fact that he’d been holding his breath.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he replies, in a voice barely above a whisper. He snuffs out the match between his fingertips, ignoring how much it burns. He tucks the letter back into the box, locks the drawer, and turns around.

“Let’s go back to bed.”

Chapter Text

It takes a solid three weeks after Toji and Suguru’s fight for Gojo to stop having dreams about Suguru every single night. 

And he’s fairly sure his subconscious considers it some sort of sick joke. Every time he manages to claw a happy memory from their past out from between the gnashing teeth of his inner demons, the gruesome image of what Suguru might’ve looked like after the fight is conjured to the forefront of his mind. 

Some nights, Suguru’s limp figure is sprawled across the shoreline, tessellations of deep gashes all over his body crusted over with coagulated sand and oozing fresh blood. Others, his every limb is snapped at the joints like a broken doll, an unwanted toy cast aside by the hands of an unamused god. When one night, a mortally wounded and grievously in pain Suguru begs Toji to just finish him off, Gojo has to wake himself up.

Each morning, his logic and his heart have a screaming match in the confines of his skull, battling over whether or not to ask Toji for more details. There really was a lot of fucking blood. He gets close to actually having the guts to pry, once or twice. But the memory of the torment and guilt twisted across Toji’s features as he told Gojo what happened is more than enough to shut Gojo up for good.

He doesn’t hold it against Toji. How could he? The fact that he chose to spare Suguru’s life and prioritize Gojo‘s happiness over his own safety, wellbeing, and the lives of countless non-sorcerers is one of the most gut-wrenching acts of kindness anyone has ever done for Gojo in his entire life. ‘I couldn’t live with myself if I made you lose someone again.’ How the hell is Gojo supposed to process that?

But as much as he hates to admit it, Gojo doesn’t really hold it against Suguru, either.

After all, Gojo did the exact same thing upon meeting Toji again, arguably for a worse reason. Suguru’s singular, disastrous interaction with Toji consisted of Toji shooting an innocent child in the skull at point-blank range right in front of him, proudly declaring that he’d murdered his best friend, then wasting him to little more than an unconscious bloody smear in the foyer of Tengen’s chamber. 

All things considered, it’s pretty much impossible to fathom a worse first impression.

Not that there was ever supposed to be another. Once Gojo shook off the high of his second fight with Toji and found his way back to Suguru, Toji’s name was never spoken between them again. The entirety of their conversation about it once they got back consisted of a hesitant, ‘So did you...’ from Suguru and a choked, ‘Yeah,’ from Gojo, and then they both had mental breakdowns.

He’s known Suguru for a long time, but the aftermath of that was the one and only time he saw Suguru truly fall apart. That time of Gojo’s life is mostly a blocked-out haze now, but he can remember with tragic clarity how small Suguru looked, doubled over sobbing on Gojo’s shabby dorm room carpet, clutching his knees to his chest like a lost child. He was never the same after that. Neither of them were.

In the end, Gojo doesn’t have a goddamn clue which of them to be mad at, so he eventually settles on himself.

He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have left. If he’d stayed on the beach just a little longer, he could’ve prevented the whole thing. That’s usually how it goes with him, isn’t it? He excels at being too late. Strength doesn’t mean anything when all he seems able to do is win first place at a race that’s already over.

And if the fight itself hadn’t shook him enough, hearing that Suguru had willingly sought Toji out last week to break the world record for ‘ worst interrogation strategy’ -- hunting Toji down in a crowded suburban discount grocery on the middle of a Tuesday -- in order to try to get some answers was the final nail in the coffin for Gojo making any sense of this. 

Toji told him about it afterwards, because of course he did. His explanation wasn’t exactly thorough, but Gojo got the distinct feeling that he was leaving out something important; and as curious as Gojo was, he didn’t pry. Couldn’t pry. He’s the last person on Earth with the right to be pissed that Toji is keeping things from him. Even if those things are right under his nose.

It seems Gojo’s not the only one who decided that the best way to cope with trauma is to adopt a bunch of kids.

Gojo’s first reaction is his guts twisting at the thought of what Suguru is probably teaching those poor girls. His second is wishing with all his heart that they could raise them all together.

Part of him wishes he could meet them, but he’s not sure how he’d manage being confronted with yet another child he couldn’t save.

Gojo rolls over on his bed from where he’s flopped on his stomach, half-tumbling off the edge of the mattress as he thuds to his feet. He drags himself over to the closet and pulls down his box of keepsakes, dulling his senses as he rummages past the final treasured mementos of his one and only.

There’s a reason he didn’t let Toji look through the box. Carefully, he unlocks the bottom compartment and withdraws its contents.

The blood on the hairband took five desperate washes and a whole bottle of bleach to clean out. Right before his final blow to Toji back then, Gojo distantly recalls believing he hadn’t felt angry or vengeful for Riko’s death. Then he saw her body, the shallow emptiness in her still half-open eyes, the way her lifeless limbs drooped like a marionette with snipped strings when he tried to hold her, and he couldn’t understand, in that moment, why Suguru thought there was no point to slaughtering the whole religious group right then and there.

Irony really is a terrible thing.

Gojo doesn’t hear the knocking at his door until it’s too late.

“Satoru?” Tsumiki says as she peers through the crack. A sliver of light illuminates her backdrop like a halo. “Dinner is ready. Are you--” She cuts herself off. “What’s that?”

“It’s--” Gojo starts, and doesn’t know how the hell to finish his sentence.

“It’s really pretty!” Tsumiki finishes. “Is that real silk?”

Is it? Gojo truly doesn’t know. “Yeah, think so.” He looks up at his daughter and recognizes that unmistakable expression of longing on her face. It’s far too similar to the first time he took his kids shopping after he took them off the streets. He swallows so hard it hurts. “...do you want it?”

“Really?!” Tsumiki beams. “I would love it!”

Gojo pushes hesitantly to his feet and wanders over to the doorway. Tsumiki is gazing up at him with a look of wonder, the same sparkling vitality Riko had towards everything. The darkness of his room pools between the threads of her irises in gunsmoke blue, like the depths of an aquarium tank or the coarse skin of a whale shark. The two of them really are strikingly similar.

He reaches out and ties the ribbon around the band of her ponytail with his best attempt at a bow. Oh well, he’ll learn how to do one someday. “There,” he murmurs. “Perfect.”

“Thank you, Satoru!” Tsumiki chirps, slipping the smooth fabric between her fingers. “Where did you get it?”

Gojo manages a soft grin. “It belonged to a very brave little girl.”

The months drag on like decades. The warm colors of late summer make their way to autumn leaves, then find their final resting place mashed beneath heels on the sidewalk in muddy shades of brown after the trees shed their harvest finery and embrace the dead cold of winter equinox. 

Gojo and Toji carry out their endless stream of missions mechanically; it feels like they’re co-flying a plane on autopilot that’s plummeting in a nose-dive towards the ground. It’s not far off, judging from how the higher ups treat them less like sorcerers and more like rickety wind-up dolls, twisting their gears with grubby, greedy hands.

Tsumiki wears Riko’s hair ribbon every day. The first time Toji sees her with it and Gojo forgets to tell her to leave it at home, Toji stares at it as if it’s some missing fundamental piece he doesn’t know how to fit into the shambled puzzle of his memories. But his reaction ends at that, and Tsumiki loves it so much that Gojo doesn’t have the heart to tell her to take it off.

He goes back and forth every day deciding whether or not to search for Suguru. It’s not that he doesn’t think he could find him; but rather, he’s not sure he’s ready for whatever comes after.

Gojo eventually decides to stop keeping track of the calendar and chucks it in the recycling bin beside fifteen empty boxes of candy. One dreary day where snowflakes mistake his icicle hair for their sisters and brothers, Tsumiki and Megumi bring him over to Toji’s for one of their playdates with Maki and Yuuji; strange, Megumi usually insists no adults are allowed. Regardless, Gojo lets himself be dragged there. As soon as Gojo walks through the door, the entirety of their extended group jumps out from behind various pieces of furniture and shout,

“Surprise!”

“Ack!” Gojo makes a sound that’d be embarrassing if he had any dignity left in the eyes of any of them. Come to think of it, why are they all here? Gojo feels like he’s missing something. “Hey, what’s going on? What’s the occasion?” He jabs a mock-accusatory finger at the group. “I swear, if the Bullying Gojo Club was having some sorta secret conspiracy meeting--”

Toji’s grin falters. “The hell do you mean ‘what’s the occasion?’” he repeats. “Happy twentieth birthday, kid.”

Gojo blinks.

Oh.

Now he’s definitely embarrassed. He huffs out an awkward laugh. “Ahaha, whoops. Guess I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Yuki repeats, and Gojo’s stomach churns with guilt at how saddened she looks. It must show on his face from how quickly her smile returns. “Hey, it’s okay! Nothing to be ashamed about.”

“She’s right. You don’t have to remember,” Nanami declares with a smile that’s small but genuine. “Because it’s something we’d never forget.”

Gojo shoves his glasses against his eyes to hide how quickly they get misty. “Wow,” he exhales. “Uh--thanks, everyone.”

“I told you guys it wouldn’t be a problem getting him here,” Megumi says to the group, then showers Gojo unceremoniously in confetti. “You’re super easy to manipulate.”

He chooses to take that as a compliment on his epic parenting. “Pfft. Ya learned from the best!”

Nanami sighs judgmentally and opens his mouth to presumably level a witty remark before Maki jabs him with her elbow to remind him what day it is. 

“We have lots of activities planned!” Yuuji announces, ignoring the silent exchange beside him. He holds up a pack of cards in a metallic blue box that shines like a mirror. “Toji-ji said it doesn’t matter if you’re not a teenager anymore, because we’re all gonna be kids today.”

Gojo breaks into a wide grin. “Oh my god, is that a first edition Digimon card game?” he says. “You guys realize I’m gonna decimate you all, right?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Maki quips with a confident grin. “Some of us know how to strategize and look up players’ guides in advance.”

Toji snorts. “Key word there being some of us.”

Yeah, there’s probably a difference between not knowing how to strategize and not wanting to. Gojo’s go-to strategy is usually chaos. Two types of players are capable of that: seasoned masters who have a nuanced understanding of the entire game, and people who don’t even know how to play. 

Gojo is obviously the former. Toji looks proud to be the latter. 

The group makes their way over to the couch and drape themselves over it wherever they can fit; Yuuji curls up between Megumi and Maki in the corner cushions and Gojo flops over the back. Yuki outstretches her legs before Nanami can sit down, earning her a scowl. Toji and Tsumiki both take the ottoman. 

“Okay,” Gojo begins. “So who here knows how to play?”

Maki raises her hand, and begrudgingly Nanami follows. Oh man, Gojo is totally holding that over his head later. Megumi and Tsumiki wave their hands in half-affirmative gestures, courtesy of how many times he’s subjected them to lessons. Which clearly, were not enough.

“Everyone listen closely to Gojo-sensei!” Gojo commands. He’s found that teaching is something he enjoys a surprisingly significant amount. “I’ll impart my tomes of knowledge, all for free, out of the goodness of my heart. Don’t all thank me at once!”

Everyone is utterly silent. Gojo can only laugh in response.

Once his phenomenal tutorial is complete, Yuuji inspects his deck of cards with determination. “I see. I don’t get it.”

“Not to worry!” Gojo rolls over the cushions to sit next to him. “I’ll play with you.”

Soon after, the games begin. Robbed of a match against her best friend, Maki and Megumi pair up instead. Nanami and Tsumiki begin a friendly bout, while Toji and Yuki face off in a duel they somehow both lose.

Yuki slams her cards on the couch. “I demand a rematch!” 

“Fine then. No more Mr. Nice Guy!” Toji shoots back. 

“That was you being a nice guy?” Maki says quizzically. Megumi gives a dubious look in response.

It’s not long before Toji is defeated. Yuki scatters her cards triumphantly above her as Toji sighs. “What’s my penalty for losing?”

Yuki drags her tongue across her lips. “I can think of a few things.”

Toji lifts an eyebrow with a suggestive grin. “Oh yeah?”

Both of them are promptly bonked on the head with an empty paper towel roll by Nanami. “Need I remind you that this is a children’s game,” he grumbles. Despite the lack of context, Tsumiki nods to show support for her opponent. “Why do I always have to do this?”

“So you admit it!” Yuki replies. “That time on the camping trip was on purpose!”

It’s Nanami’s turn to smirk in response. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Before any of the kids can open their mouths to ask for clarification, Gojo cuts in. “So what’s the next activity?”

Maki and Yuuji rocket over the back of the couch like cheetahs before returning to the living room with arms piled high with a dizzying rainbow of paint. “Art!” Yuuji announces.

“Ooh!” Gojo excitedly accepts when Maki passes him a tube of orange glaze. “What are we painting?”

Pointing to the pristine white wall of the living room, Maki answers, “That.”

Isn’t this place a rental? Wow, that’s going to be a mess. Gojo flashes her a thumbs-up. “Ha! Perfect!”

Gojo skips over to the wall with the rest of the group in tow. Crinkled tubes and metallic cans are scattered beside it in various states of preparation, with some vacuum-sealed shut and others already prepped with colorful paintbrushes dipped in like cut flowers.

Nanami gingerly lifts a brush from a can of green paint and wipes the excess on the lid. Yuuji hops over to him and dunks in his entire hand, spattering Nanami’s carefully-pressed work pants in neon-lime polka dots. The defeated sigh from Nanami that follows is a fantastic birthday present.

“Oops,” Yuuji says sheepishly. “Sorry, Nanamin.”

“It’s fine.” Nanami dots the tip of Yuuji’s nose with a dab of paint from the brush. Yuuji’s eyes cross as he follows the bristles. “Now we’re even.”

Oh god, that was too fucking cute. Gojo hops over to his kids. “Me! Gu! Mi! Want to paint something with me?”

Megumi pauses to think for way longer than he should have to. “Okay.”

Flicking off the cap to his tube of tangerine paint and chucking it behind him, Gojo squeezes a glob onto a makeshift palette made out of a cardboard box and sloppily paints a tic-tac-toe board on Maki and Toji’s wall. “I challenge you!”

A determined grin in response. “You’re so on.”

Tsumiki cheers enthusiastically. “Do your best, both of you!”

“Any bets for who’s gonna win?” Toji asks.

“You want to gamble over a game of tic-tac-toe?” Nanami says incredulously.

“Seems like someone’s afraid of losing,” Maki chimes in. Toji gives his daughter a high-five.

“Fine, you know what?” Nanami folds his arms. “You’re on. My bet’s on Megumi.”

Toji’s face falls. “Ah, shit. I was gonna bet on Megumi, too.”

Gojo clasps a hand to his chest in utmost offense. “The betrayal!” He peers over his shoulder with an exaggerated pout. “Tsumiki, will you bet on me?”

Tsumiki gives him a grin so sunny the winter temporarily turns into spring. “Of course I will, Satoru!”

“I will, too,” Yuki adds with a chuckle. 

“Thank you for your faith!” Gojo declares. “Megumi. Let’s begin.”

With steely determination, Gojo and Megumi begin their match. The first ends in a cat’s-game; that’s fine, Gojo was expecting this. He paints another board beside it and they start right away.

It takes six games before Gojo finally is a conclusive winner. He raises his brush victoriously above his head, pointedly ignoring how much paint drips onto his hair. “Haha! You’ve been vanquished!”

Megumi has on a gentle grin. “Bummer.”

Okay, did Megumi let Gojo win because it’s his birthday? Gojo can’t decide whether to be embarrassed or emotional. Unable to decide, he swivels around to ruffle Tsumiki’s hair and only belatedly realize his hand is covered in pigment. “Whoops.”

“It’s okay!” Tsumiki giggles. She presses a blue handprint onto the front of his shoulder. “There’s your medal of victory.”

Gojo pivots towards the others to proudly show off his new badge of honor.

“You’re owning that look!” Yuki declares.

Nanami frowns. “He’s renting it at best.”

Yuki tips back her head and laughs. “You’re just saying that because you lost the bet.”

A long sigh. “Perhaps.”

The group gets back to painting after that. An hour and a half later, there are no less than twenty handprints in a kaleidoscope of colors slapped onto the wall, overlapping one another as if they’re permanently holding hands. Four word-guessing games were won and lost, beside the messiest rendition of a Pikachu ever drawn in the history of forever. A quaint little village guarded by a slightly better drawn dragon guard the portion of wall closest to the kitchen, and the lyrics to a My Chemical Romance song that Gojo genuinely doesn’t know who wrote on the wall. Only he, Yuki and Nanami speak decent English.

“Whew! That was exhausting,” Gojo says, wiping his paintbrush on his pants. It blends nicely in with the abstract art of smudges already covering his clothes. “Say...you all wouldn’t happen to have a cake for me, would ya?”

“Who do you think we are?” Maki replies. She pads over to the fridge and the others trail after her like ants following the scent of a picnic. Climbing on her toes, she carefully pulls down an enormous cake, frosted in rainbow icing of every color except blue.

Gojo tries very hard not to get choked up, and is only barely successful.

Maki wastes no time in violently stabbing the cake with twenty candles. Toji fishes a lighter out of his pocket and prepares to light the first one.

“Whoa, why do you have that lighter already on ya?” Yuki asks. “I didn’t think you smoked.”

“‘Course I don’t smoke,” Toji replies with a funny look, lighting the first candle without glancing at it. “But you never know when you’re gonna need to light somethin’ on fire.”

Nanami snorts. “Once again, you prove you’re a laudable role model.”

“Oi, both of my kids turned out great!”

“You didn’t raise either of them!”

Gojo wants to feel happy that one of the kids Toji is referring to is him, but it’s hard to overcome the guilt of Megumi being right in between them.

Once the cake is light with a concerningly high pyre of flames from the candles bleeding into one another, Tsumiki gestures excitedly. “Make a wish, Satoru!”

A wish? Gojo thinks, as his whole family scoots closer and looks at him expectantly. Surrounded by so much love and support, what does he even have left to wish for?

A wistful pang in his chest reminds him who’s missing. There’s really only one thing left to want.

Gojo closes his eyes, wishes with all his heart, and blows out the candles.

The group cheers beside him. “What’d you wish for?” Maki pries.

“He has to keep it a secret, or else it won’t come true,” Megumi responds.

“Hm.” Toji gives Gojo a warm grin before facing his daughter. “I think the birthday fairy knows what he wished for. Tell ya what, sweetheart. They’re gonna do their very best to make it come true.”

Gojo’s equally torn between teasing Toji for referring to himself as the ‘birthday fairy’ and bursting into tears over the meaning of his words. “Wait, you’re going to...”

“Anyways,” Toji interrupts. “Who’s cuttin’ the cake? I want a piece without too much wax.”

“I’ll do it,” Nanami offers. If Gojo didn’t know better, he might almost think Nanami activated his technique to cut the cake into perfect ratios. He passes the first slice to Gojo, then the next to Yuuji.

“Here you go, Yuuji,” Nanami says.

Yuuji beams at him. “Thanks, Dad!”

The room goes totally silent. If a pin dropped on the opposite side of the universe, it would be deafening. 

Nanami chokes on--air, or something. “...what?”

A moment later, Yuuji’s eyes go wide as he realizes his mistake. “I--um--sorry, Nanamin.”

“It’s alright,” Nanami exhales, but Gojo doesn’t need the Six-Eyes to tell that he’s barely keeping it together. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Nanami gives a half-bow before inexplicably retrieving his briefcase then gracefully exiting through the front door to recollect himself. Yuuji’s wearing a confused frown.

“I think you broke him,” Yuki snorts. “Don’t worry, kid. I think he just wasn’t expecting that.”

Maki hops over to Gojo and holds out her hand. “Cough it up, rich boy.”

Gojo’s expression falls. “Hey! It’s my birthday!”

“And? You lost our betting pot for when this would happen.” She waves her hand in his face expectantly. “I’m totally gonna buy a new weapon with your special-grade salary.”

“Oi, at least buy some candy or something! You’re literally eight!” Gojo glances at the door. “Hang on, I’ll fork it over later. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

Crossing her arms indignantly, Maki exhales a resigned sigh. “Fine.”

Gojo salutes the group over his shoulder as he saunters out the door. Last-second critical thinking stops him from swinging it open wide, and instead he slips through the smallest crack he can fit through, then clicks it shut behind him. 

Nanami is leaning against the railing, eyes transfixed on the yawning sun staining the clouds with colors of winter wildflowers, dragged across the horizon like a dry paintbrush. An early evening breeze rustles through strands of carefully-coiffed hair, slightly out of place from a hand run through it. His eyes are a bit red.

The wave Gojo musters is more than a little awkward. “Yo, Nanamin.”

“Gojo,” Nanami responds, readjusting a blazer that’s far too thin to stave out the cold. A shiver arcs down Gojo’s spine just looking at it. “I apologize. I’ll return inside in a few minutes.”

“No rush,” Gojo says, propping himself up against the barrier beside Nanami. “Guess that really got ya, huh?”

Kind of a pointless thing to say; Nanami’s withering glare confirms it. Nanami unzips his briefcase and hands Gojo a file folder. “Third page.”

Quizzically, Gojo accepts the folder and skims through it. His guts twist like a fraying rope upon reaching the crime scene photos. “Jin...Itadori,” he reads out. “Ouch.” He passes Nanami the folder. “Where’d you get this?”

“Jujutsu Tech,” Nanami replies flatly, and Gojo gawks at him.

“Jujutsu Tech?” he repeats. “Didn’t you swear never to return?!”

A nod. “I did.” Nanami deflates onto the metal, fogging up the silver beneath the heat of his fingertips. “But some things are worthy of exception.”

Is now the wrong time to take credit for this? “Yeah, I get it.” Gojo drums against the guardrail to busy his jittery hands. “So you’re feeling overwhelmed because...”

“His father is dead, Gojo,” Nanami says, and must regret how flatly he said it from how he flinches at Gojo’s instinctive recoiling reaction. “What right do I have to take his place?”

“More than I have,” Gojo says with a self-deprecating chuckle. Nanami gives him a disbelieving look in response. “I told you right at the beginning, didn’t I? Yuuji needs someone, Nanamin. And honestly? I think you needed it, too.”

Nanami sighs. “...perhaps.”

It’s probably too much to ask for a ‘you were right.’ If this is the closest he gets, Gojo considers it a champion triumph. “See, what’d I tell ya?” He tosses an arm loosely around Nanami’s shoulders. “Kids give life purpose.”

“True,” Nanami agrees, then he meets Gojo’s gaze with a smile entirely too warm for his tired features, and happiness swells in Gojo’s chest so quickly that it hurts like pain. “But so do friends.”

“Friends?” Gojo squeaks, and points to himself. He tells himself the cold is why his finger is shaking. “Your friends give your life purpose?”

“That’s what I just said.”

The only way Gojo can process that is by invoking his last-ditch default method: humorous deflection. “Ahaha, are you saying that I’m your best friend?” At Nanami’s silence, Gojo’s jaw drops. “Oh my god, I’m totally your best friend.”

“There are no other contenders, Gojo.”

“Whatever, just let me have this!” Gojo insists. He prods Nanami’s shoulder. “Say it. Say I’m your best friend.”

“I take it back.”

“Aw, come on! It’s my birthday! Pretty please? Just once?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Don’t try to deny it!” Gojo shoots back. “You learned how to play Digimon for me!”

“I did,” Nanami admits, then he follows that with a pained, “Gojo...I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Gojo tilts his head. “For what?”

Nanami waves his arm in a vague, stumbling gesture. “High school.”

“High school...” Gojo’s voice trails off. High school was so incredibly fucked up that he doesn’t even know where to start with that. So he settles on, “What about high school?”

“I didn’t understand you,” Nanami begins. “But what’s worse is that I didn’t even try. I foolishly thought such things were beyond me.” He shakes his head, visibly disappointed in himself. “People talked about you as if you were a concept, rather than a person.”

Right. That. Gojo huffs out an exhausted laugh. “It felt that way, sometimes.”

“But you deserved more than one person back then to tell you that wasn’t true,” Nanami insists. “It shouldn’t have taken the words of an amnesiac ex-murderer at his daughter-slash-niece’s elementary school parent’s day to make me finally understand. I should have looked deeper.” He finally meets Gojo’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

The scant remains of Gojo’s emotional processing power drop like a rock to the bottom of a lake. “I-It’s fine,” he falters, and he’s never been a terribly good liar but right now he almost wishes Nanami still wore those weird glasses, just so Gojo didn’t have to stare into the bottomless depths of his eyes. “I mean, I was super annoying to you, remember? I pretty much purposefully drove you away.”

“No, you didn’t,” Nanami argues, with zero hesitation. “I think you just wanted someone to look at you.”

It’s just not fair how quickly Nanami has gone from not understanding Gojo to knowing him better than he knows himself. “Haha, what I’m hearing is that I can continue to annoy you and you won’t leave.”

Nanami gives him a gentle grin. “Unfortunately.”

And despite the fact that Gojo’s track record with best friends is something that belongs in a graveyard, Gojo believes him. He believes him so much it fills the empty slots between his ribs and cuts through the ghosts of abandonment so easily it’s like his grief is made of butter and cotton instead of radioactive lead. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve all of you in my life,” Gojo admits.

”You don’t have to do anything to deserve it,” Nanami counters. “You don’t have to earn our love. You have it, Satoru. It’s yours. You deserve it inherently because of who you are as a person. No matter how lost you become, we will always be a place you can come home to.”

Gojo sniffles. “Thanks, Nanamin.” And then it hits him. “You called me Satoru!”

“Yes, and that was your birthday present. Don’t get used to it, because it’s never going to happen again.”

“Never? That’s too long,” Gojo complains. “How about for my next birthday?”

A sigh of acceptance. “Fine.”

Gojo scoots closer. “Promise?”

Nanami nods, intent and resolute. “I promise.”

They stay outside until the sun’s descent shoos them indoors, soaking the last few degrees of warmth from the evening and into the swells of twilight clouds. Gojo teeters on his heels and opens the door for Nanami with an exaggerated polite bow, earning him a scowl that’s too mirthful at the edges to be genuine.

The scene that greets them is a little chaotic. Divine Puppies are scampering around the living room, tracking frosting over the furniture with their hyperactive paws. Yuuji and Tsumiki’s glasses are on and they’re both in hot pursuit, covered in fur and laughing so hard their tiny bodies are shaking. 

The fact that Maki and Megumi have resumed playing Digimon unprompted by him might be his best birthday present yet. Toji and Yuki are reclining in the kitchen; there’s a glass of wine tipped languidly in Yuki’s hand, while Toji’s holding the rest of the bottle.

Nanami sighs and attempts to pry to the bottle from Toji’s grasp. “That’s unwise.”

Toji scowls in response. “What, is there a rule against gettin’ tipsy at your kid’s birthday party?”

Nanami’s stare flattens. “I think there is, actually.”

“Hmph.” Toji huffs and turns up his nose. “Alright, I’m pullin’ the amnesia card.”

“It’s not something you’d remember, it’s just common sense.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a funny feeling I never had any of that to begin with.”

Realizing the effort is futile, Nanami throws in the towel. Instead, he approaches Yuuji, who pauses mid-puppy chase.

“I apologize for earlier, Yuuji,” Nanami starts. “It’s truly alright. You can call me whatever you want.”

Yuuji brightens. “Okay, Nanamin!” He tugs on Nanami’s pant leg. “Play with Tsuki and Taiyo and me!”

Little effort needs to be put into dragging Nanami away. Once they’ve all stuffed their faces full of cake, Tsumiki gathers everyone around the couch.

“It’s time for our last activity,” she announces, then grabs a pile of blankets from the floor and hands one to each person. “Stargazing!”

They all scramble out the door, some with the plush blankets carefully in hand, or tossed comfortably around their shoulders, or in Yuuji’s case, tied around his neck like a cape. The group splits off -- Toji and Yuki nestle beside each other under a tree while Megumi and Tsumiki join Nanami and Yuuji. 

Gojo gets as close as he can to the river’s edge without getting his toes wet, though the hem of his blanket isn’t quite so lucky. The crystal-tipped waves sparkle with fallen stardust, pooling between the rolling hills and valleys of water like powdered gemstones. The moon’s reflection in the water shines brighter than its source, and the concentric rippling of the river transforms the waxing crescent sliver into a full moon.

Once Gojo settles atop his blanket, Maki plops beside him.

“Hey,” she greets. “Happy birthday, loser.”

“Pfft.” Gojo ruffles her hair and Maki cracks up. “Thanks, ya little spitfire.” 

She props her hands behind her head. “You know, I used to forget my birthday, too,” she tells him. “It’s actually kind of funny, right?”

Wasn’t she seven when Toji took her in? Gojo makes a mental note to beat up whatever Zen’in he runs into next. “Yeah, super funny. In my defense, it’s been a weird year.”

“I hear that,” she replies. “Did you know Megumi’s Divine Puppies have been collecting empty chip bags every time they visit for the past few months? I think they’re trying to make a nest.”

Weird. Definitely weird. But not what he meant. “See, you get it. It’s been twelve straight months of nonstop nonsense.”

Maki snorts and lifts her hands in air-quotes. “ ‘Straight.’ ”

“Hey!” Gojo swats at her, but she’s too quick. “Seriously, though. It’s been eventful,” he says, and that’s such an understatement that he laughs out loud at what wasn’t intended as a joke. “Lots of kids were adopted. Lots of asses were kicked.”

“Really?” Maki folds her arms. The crease between her brows is pulled tight as a stitch. “I feel like I didn’t kick enough asses. It’s one of my New Years’ Resolutions.”

He has zero doubts that she’ll be able to attain it. “Hey, pinky promise that I won’t be one of those asses.”

“You already are an ass. And I’m not doing that,” Maki rejects with a mischievous grin. “Toji taught me not to make promises I don’t intend to keep.”

Yeah, he expected as much. For lack of a witty comeback, he flicks her between the eyes. “I’m not gonna go easy on ya during your training next year.”

She smirks in response. “I’d be insulted if you did.”

“Then we’re on the same page!” Gojo says with a snap. “I’ll kick your ass, and you’ll kick mine. Perfectly balanced, as all things should be.”

She holds out her pinky. “Now that I can agree to.”

Cackling, Gojo links their pinkies together in a silent promise. They both flop back onto the blanket to gaze up in wonder at the night, a flaky charcoal backdrop spread behind a smattering of stars. Wisps of clouds hide the stars in a translucent shroud like an angel’s veil, intangible and correction-fluid white. Constellations trace circlets of light around orbiting planets like halos.

A few minutes later, Maki shifts atop the blanket, and Gojo can tell she’s grappling with whatever she wants to say. Curious, Gojo gestures for her to spit it out already.

Maki heaves a sigh; encouraged to speak, but barely. “I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while,” she begins hesitantly, “but was Naoya really your best friend when you were a kid?”

“Hah.” It’s the closest he can come to a chuckle. “Unfortunately.”

Gojo doesn’t have to look to tell that she’s frowning. “What was he like back then?”

“Oh, he was a total scaredy-cat. Cried all the time,” Gojo tells her. Though he’s convinced both of those have only changed on the ex terior. “But...he was a decent friend. We were never really alike, but we definitely weren’t as different back then as we are now.”

Maki gulps. “Do you think there’s any chance he could ever go back to the way he was?”

Gojo shrugs against the blanket, casually as he can. The plaid cotton rumples beneath the dip of his shoulder, gridlines blurring into waves. “Probably not.” He manages a wistful laugh. “But I’m not so great at giving up on people who are beyond hope.”

“I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.” She must notice how he says it like he means less about Naoya and more about someone else. Another beat, and Gojo can practically hear the gears click together in her head. “Nanako and Mimiko’s dad. You know him.”

It’s not even a question. 

“Yeesh! Have some tact,” Gojo whines, because there’s no point in denying it. He’s not sure if her senses would catch him in the lie, or if she’d just be able to tell from how well she knows him. Probably both. “You’re too sharp. Plus you’ve got that sword of yours. That thing is way too sharp!”

“Sword?” Maki repeats suspiciously, and instantly Gojo knows he royally fucked up. He only meets her eyes out of the morbid human tendency to watch a trainwreck. “I’ve never shown it to you. How do you know about it?”

“Um,” Gojo says, and can’t think of any way to defend himself.

Maki’s gaze drops to the healed seam on his left shoulder. Fuck, he shouldn’t have taken off his shirt that day at the beach. “Was it Toji?” she asks in a small voice.

He wishes he could bring himself to lie. But how could he, when Maki is looking at him like that? “Yeah.”