Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gojo pops up behind her one day while she is typing away at her computer -reports that she could do in her sleep at this point seeing how they rarely differ from the thousand others that threaten to overwhelm her cramped desk. 

“What's that?”

“A report on one of the bodies that Nanami found,” She glanced up, catching his eyes not on her screen but by the object next to her, that still held her burning cigarette. She paused in her work, picked it up and flicked off the ash. “Silly of me to assume you were interested in work. It's clearly an ash tray.”

“It's ugly.”

Shoko frowned. “I made it.”

“...It's beautiful. Such lovely craft work.” He corrected himself, giving her a big smile that she gave into temptation to ruin by blowing smoke rings in his face. Idiot just kept smiling. “Who painted it? Your three year old niece? Why is it so blotchy?”

“Rude. She's four and no. I did that too.”

“Ah.”

There's growing silence where Gojo fidgets like a child, uneasy in the lack of conversation where he clearly wants to ask more questions but worries he's already pissed her off (he has). He learned a long time ago that Shoko does in fact have a limit for his nonsense and once she reaches it, the consequences are dire.

His hair had been an ugly green color for a month.

Shoko isn't that annoyed, so she turns back to her work and says, “Go on. Ask.”

“You made it? Where? Why? When? I thought they had you chained up in here. In fact I distinctly remember Yaga even got them to install a vending machine for cigarettes in the hall. Those aren't even legal anymore are they?”

“First off, they are and second he did that because he lost a bet with me.”

Shoko can actually see the eagerness blossom in his eyes like an anime character, she shuts it down quickly.

“No. I'm not telling you what.”

“Shoko. Come on. Please? I need to know. I'll die if I don't. Was it about me? About Nanami? Did he finally ask out that cute bakery chick?”

“Third,” She starts, moving on. “I got a free coupon the mail for a pottery class in my neighborhood. The first class was free, but I liked it so much I decided to keep going. It helps me unwind. Plus. Free ash trays for life.”

“I can't see you....making pottery.”

Shoko shrugs, indifferent to lackluster view of her hobbies. It's not like she was the most art driven person in the world. Her favorite color was black and she could barely draw a decent stick figure. Although drunk Shoko had a certain way with a black sharpie. Gojo could attest to this, having been the victim many times.

“Well, no one can see Yoshinobu being a Taylor Swift fan either but you'd be surprised.”

“What?”

“Oh, hey look at that. Lunch time.” Shoko casually announces as she stands up and grabs her bag, quickly leaving Gojo in the dust. Metaphorically and physically, it takes an extended amount of time for his brain to catch up to her words. To process them. She takes that time to speed walk out of the building.

“Wait, Shoko! Is that what the bet was?!”

It's honestly her fault to assume she had managed to distract him with the bet.

“Hey Shoko-chan~!” Gojo sings out from across the street where her pottery class is located. It's a small hole in the wall type of building that was once a factory or something, reconverted into a local community center. Part of her liked the class because it was close to home and also small enough that no one really bothered to talk with each other. Shoko liked that part a lot.

“Go home.” She tells him, “Go home now and I won't tell Megumi that you're the one who broke his phone trying to record a tik tok video.”

“Rude.”

“Yup. Rude and armed with a life-time of embarrassing stories of your youth. Think they will get a kick outta that time you ended up licking a metal pole in the middle of winter?”

“That was on a bet made by you!”

“Yeah, and it makes for a lovely Christmas card for all our coworkers. Nanami will probably frame it.”

“Rude and mean and...gate keeping.” Gojo accuses, pointing at her, “I can join if I want to.”

Shoko plucks the glasses right off his face -she knows for a fact that she is literally the only person in the universe who can. Anyone else would have been blocked by his barrier, or he would have ducked away on instinct. Only Shoko can reach up, steal the frames and look into his intense eyes.

“Real reason loser or I steal these for my next art project.”

“I'm bored. Come on, gimme them back.” He whines, reaching to steal them back but she ducks. Hiding the shades behind her back, “Maybe I just wanted to hang out. We haven't hung out in forever!”

“Ah. That's true.” She is thrown a little off by both the truth in his words and the unguarded look of embarrassment in his gaze. Shoko hands the glasses back and hates that her hands feel distinctly tingly by the mutual touching of skin. “You could have just asked. To hang out I mean. We could have gone to get drinks or whatever, not this. Why do you even want to do pottery?”

Gojo fixed his glasses, “Honestly, I'm so good at everything, why not try my hand at this?”

Ah, there it is.

Shoko laughs. Maybe this will be fun.

“Hey. Hey. Shoko. Shoooooko. Shoko look. Look at me.” Gojo whispers loudly, he's right next to her. Looming angrily over his own mess of a 'vase' -that looks more like a punched curse made of mud. “Shoko, what am I doing wrong? You made it look easy. Give me a hand. Don't gatekeep.”

Shoko who is busy making her own vase, (which might not be smooth, but at least it's vaguely vase shape.) shakes her head.

“I told you to pay attention, Gojo. It's not like you'll be graded, chill out. Make an abstract piece of art instead.”

“...That's just your way of saying I'm terrible and should just give up.”

Shoko ignores him, focusing on making her vase taller by stroking the clay upwards.

“...it looks like you are stroking a dick.”

“I know. Shut up.” She snaps.

“Look what I made!”

Shoko makes the mistake of looking over, to see that Gojo has in fact, made a rather large clay dick. Without thinking -to preserve her chances of not being banned for life- she snakes a hand out and breaks it to pieces, Gojo squeaks like it was his junk personally that she just smashed and starts to push at her hands away.

“What the hell, that was art!”

“I will do the same to you for real, Gojo.” She hisses, “I want to be able to show my face here again.”

“Unfair. You are the one who inspired me- Ow! Shoko! Did you just throw clay at me? Is it in my hair?”

“Let me try this at least once, Shoko.”

“No.”

“Come on. Just for a second.”

“Try it and suffer.”

“...I'll buy you dinner after this.”

“...I want fancy grilled meat and all the beer I can drink.”

“Deal!”

Gojo swooped in behind her, snuggling in to rest his head on her own as his hands moved under her own in the swirling clay before them. For a second, it was actually pretty nice, to have his warmth surround her as he hummed and they worked together.

“When was the last time you washed your hair, Shoko? It smells like cigarettes.”

Shoko shoved both her elbows viciously into his gut and smirked with satisfaction as he nosily fell off.

By the end of it, she's exhausted but pleased with her pink medium sized vase. It's a little funky in shape, but it's cute. It might be a good piece to put in the window at home. She's waiting for Gojo to appear outside the building, smoking and waving softly at those who are also leaving. He's the last of the group to pop out, with a bag in hand.

“Here.” He hands it to her. She blinks at the gift but peers inside. It's the piece he was working on all day, a little bright blue ash tray -that's more of a wobbly plate than anything but Shoko smiles.

“It's cute. Thanks.”

“Yeah, well, of course it is. I made it for you.”

“Thanks.” She says again, blushing at the sincerity. A rare thing with him. “What's the special occasion? It's not my birthday for a couple of months.”

She usually gives him a week's notice to that. He's good at casual gifts (money does wonders for gift giving) but Shoko's always been easy in that regard. She would be happy with a pack of cigarettes as she would be with a new purse. This little ashtray, made by his own hands feels steeped in care, making her a little awkward to receive it without prompt. Should she have made something for him?

“No reason.” Gojo says, but she's not sure she believes him. He's doing that thing where he leans back on his heels and stretches out his spine. “Come on, I promised you dinner, didn't I?”

Shoko is tempted to push, but her stomach makes a loud sound in reply.

“I guess that's one way to answer.” He remarks, “You can eat your weight in beef tonight!”

Shoko laughs and sneaks her arm through his, letting him lead her to dinner. She can bug him about the meaning of the surprised gift later.

"Ready to go broke?"

"For you? Always."

Chapter Text

Gojo does not shop for himself. Not really. He collects knickknacks on his travels that he tends to buy in bulk, throws them into the endless horde of similar trinkets in his campus room and then immediately forgets about it. About every three months someone from the Gojo clan compound will come in and gather them up to store elsewhere and so the cycle begins again. 

He buys his clothes. Kinda . It’s not like he’s got a lot of free time to personally shop, mostly he just shops online when he’s bored at three am. He’s got a fleet of personal shoppers who were hired by the family ages ago, who know the intimate details of his body, credit card and address but who he’s never even seen. They fill his closet, apartment and fridge; awkward considering he hardly ever goes home. 

-he’s got his campus rooms, Shoko’s apartment and the many delicious restaurants of Tokyo to keep him happily housed and fed. 

So it’s not surprising he doesn’t really ‘get’ this new fad of ugly mugs that has sprung up around him.

Why would you want to drink out of something in the shape of a melting piece of bread?

He opens his mouth to comment on it, but the second he does, Nanami is cutting him off.

“Don’t .”

“Aw, come on. It’s so-”

It’s only with the blessed gift of Six-Eyes that allows him to catch Nanami giving him the quickest, smallest smug smile of his life. It sends literal chills down Gojo’s spine. He’s never seen that type of smile on Nanami in his life.

As if Nanami was standing tall on high, watching Gojo dig his own grave. 

“Go on. Finish that sentence.”

“...I suddenly don’t want to any more.”

He can’t explain in detail why, but he trusts his instincts. 

Nanami goes back to drinking his coffee.

“Pity. I guess you do have some survival instincts.”

“What does that mean?”

Nanami doesn’t reply, simply opens up his newspaper to completely block Gojo. 

He starts to notice more and more, the collection of ugly mugs growing in their little society. Miwa gushes over her ‘cute’ little mad looking dumpling (?). She babbles to him about how she’s got a matching one with a teammate, while Gojo’s in town to bully the elderly.

Gojo tries to ask her where she got it, because at this point he’s willing to admit he’s curious where everyone is getting one. He looked online but nothing really showed up (Maybe it was a special curse user trying to make a side hustle?) and she’s just about to tell him when Gakuganji shoos her away so their meeting can start. 

“Those kids and their dumb fads.” The old man grumbles.

“The last fad you experienced was the dinosaurs going extinct.”

One of Gakuganji’s massive white eyebrows goes up, “I notice you don’t have one.”

“I don’t follow fads, I set them.” Gojo states, noisily sipping his own boba tea that he brought with him despite being warned several times not to. 

“Says the man who wears the same outfit every single time I’ve seen him.”

“Surprised you can still see, gramps.”

“Can see you want one of those ugly cups just fine.”

Gojo bites down on the straw. It would probably be a hassle to kill the old bastard right here and now. He would get blood on his shoes and he would be late for dinner with Shoko and last time he was late she fell asleep while they were making out. 

“Don’t want one. Just curious.” He mutters, for once eager to talk business. 

A week goes by and Gojo mostly puts the mugs out of his mind. Between taking out curses, teaching and making sure to get his daily amount of Shoko, he’s pretty busy. It’s not until he’s helping Megumi move into his dad’s new place (close enough to campus not to be a hassle but far enough that the Zenin clan won’t cross paths easily with their recently revived outcast.) that he spots one. Or rather he spots Toji drinking booze out of one. 

“That’s the ugliest one yet.” Gojo points out, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He’s mostly made peace with Toji coming back, in the sense that he doesn’t kill him on sight. It took a lot of work to keep Toji in the land of the living, and while many of the clans fear the ever living shit out of the man, they recognize the gift of having the immense weapon in their favor. Even if he makes them pay for it literally. Better the devil you know and all that jazz.

Toji who still fucking hates the guts of the rich kid prick who killed him, doesn’t give two fucks what Satoru Gojo thinks. 

“That what they said when you were born, freak?”

Gojo can’t help but chuckle, “I’m beauty personified. I meant that ugly ass mug.” He points at it directly. “It looks like a disfigured snow man who was made by someone with your intelligence. Seriously, I thought they were paying you a fortune to stick around and not murder us, isn’t that enough to get yourself some decent mugs?”

Toji says nothing, and that alone should be a warning. 

Instead, Gojo watches smugly until Toji tips the mug back to drink and shows the bottom of said mug. In big, bold black letters it says: MADE BY SHOKO IEIRI 

Gojo makes a choked up gurgling sound of dismay. 

“You make mugs!?” 

Shoko blinks up at him, he’s looming over her. Clearly in distress, but she’s a little busy being elbow deep in the chest cavity of a former curse-user so she doesn’t really give him much more than a shrug. 

“You know I take pottery classes. You went that one time, remember?”

“Yeah, but like…you were just making cute little vases and ash trays!”

“That was weeks ago. I make a lot of things now.” She replies succinctly, digging in and pulling out a bloody organ that Gojo can’t name. She puts it gently to the side and starts to weigh it, writing that down and diving right back in. “I tried to make figurines but I like to make things that are functional rather than decorative.”

Gojo feels the wind of his sails start to die down, “Okay…but you never said?”

She gives him a look, “Wasn’t aware I was supposed to?”

“It is when you give them to murdering, flip flop wearing-assholes.”

“God forbid a woman has hobbies.”

“ Shoko! ” He whines, if he could he would be attached to her right now. Possibly at her feet to get her attention. He doesn’t care if he’s being a brat right now, not only does he feel angry that Toji has something he doesn’t (a handmade item by Shoko) but also hurt that it seems the whole damn world seems to have one but him. Which means he’s totally allowed to be childish. 

She ignores him, letting him stand and look at her sadly for a whole eight minutes before finally packing up her station a bit and removing her gloves. She allows one of her assistants to finish the cleaning up process as she pulls him into her office. 

“You’re just mad I didn’t give you one.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know why.” 

Gojo pouts, “I want one.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear. I heard you tried to buy one off of Megumi, were you seriously going to buy him an island?”

“A small one, but yes. He said no. I know it was just to spite me.”

“-and Yuji?”

“He offered to give me his but I don’t know how I feel drinking out of a poop shaped one.”

“That was what he wanted.” She points out, just as Gojo hears his phone go off, it is Utahime’s ringtone. It is rare that she ever messages him without reason, so thinking it might be highly important, he opens it. Only when he does, it’s just her holding up one of Shoko’s beautiful and creatively made mugs with a wide smile. 

LOOK WHAT I HAVE LOSER.

Gojo frowns deeply and shows the image to Shoko who just laughs.

“Why don’t I have one?”

Shoko twirls a stand of her hair around her finger, “There’s no deep reason. I just figured you wouldn’t need one. Plus I know for a fact you think they’re ugly.”

“I have never said-”

“Toji told me.”

“He’s filthy hobo who smells of cheese and lies.”

“So did Nanami.”

“He’s a hard worker who smells of sandalwood and lies.”

She hums, amused and sits on the edge of her desk. Gently drawing him in by a single look until he’s standing between her legs. He’s still in a mood, still hurt despite trying to act like this isn’t a big deal (it’s not) but it’s hard to keep the ache in his heart. He lowers his barrier and taps her thigh. Shoko clutches at his shirt, tugging at it. 

“Would you like one Satoru?” She asks, soft and sweet. Enough to make his mouth want to press against her to see if he can catch the lingering taste. 

“Yes please.”

“Even if it’s kinda ugly?”

“You can make it extra ugly if you want.”

Shoko ends up giggling when he gives up on pouting (he got what he wanted after all) and finally tips himself onto her. Face first, buried into the crux of her neck and hands surging up to wrap her into a tight hug. They tilt awkwardly for a moment until she forces them to balance once more, as she always does. Long, lovely fingers pushing up his head so she can kiss him. So he can kiss her deeper. She laughs softly against his lips. 

“I’m going to make it so ugly you won’t want to drink out of it.”

“Impossible but go ahead and try.”

Chapter Text

Katsuko Kugisaki did not want to be a sorcerer, not really. She knew it was likely given her bloodline, and that even if she somehow managed to pretend she did not see curses that sooner or later it would drag her kicking and screaming into the world whether she wanted to or not. 

When she was little, she wanted to be one.

Back when she was dumb and unaware, before she knew what it meant. What you could lose; not just limbs and eyes or time. Before her mother sat her down for the talk -not birds and bees but curses and corpses, what it meant to be the last one standing between the chaos of the world and those who can not defend themselves. It was the talk her great-grandmother had given her mother, the one that had her grandmother running for the hills and mother into the fray with a sneer. 

Katsuko was not her grandmother (a coward) but she was also not her mother (a force). She was a girl who would just rather not spend her life covered in blood.

“You don’t have to do it, really. Don’t stress kiddo, you’ll get wrinkles before you’re forty and end up looking like your father.” Her mother told her, seemingly worried more about the last part than her daughter’s questionable life choices. As if she wasn’t in love with the man or about to have their third anniversary.

Or that Katsuko was a mirror image of her mother, hair a little more wild, a little darker in color. She was never going to look like her father no matter how many wrinkles she got.

(She had her father’s moody personality, his absent minded aloofness that was borderline rude. If she was her mother’s mirror then she was also her father’s echo.) 

Where she got the desperate need to run away, the day of her interview despite telling everyone she was fine, and yes of course she was going to go, no need to worry Kat Kugisaki is here! - was anyone’s guess.

Idiot. She was an idiot.

If she didn’t want to do this, all she had to do was say so. Neither of her parents put pressure on her. There was no expectation to follow in their footsteps. 

(-but she had the power, she was powerful and that came with responsibilities, didn't it? Who was she to sit on her ass and pretend otherwise?)

Instead of saying anything, she was now hiding in a bush as if that was going to fix anything.

“It’s fine. This is just where I live now.” She muttered to herself, curling up into a ball.

“Does that make us roommates?” 

Kat froze, or rather her heart lurched out of her rib cage in pure fear and every other body part clenched . Which was good, because otherwise she would have shit herself. 

There, nestled right next to her was a petite looking woman. She was beautiful, but she also looked utterly exhausted -the black and purple around her eyes was so deep in color that Kat almost assumed it was makeup before realizing that the woman wasn’t even wearing make up. She was dressed in green scrubs, hair shoved up into a messy bun and a white doctor’s jacket. In the jacket's front pocket was a pair of blue gloves, drenched in what looked like dried blood.

Was she going to die? Murdered by some random serial killer doctor who hunted in bushes? 

“Why do you think I am a serial killer?” The woman asked, chewing rather bluntly on a stick of beefy jerky she randomly pulled out from a (thankfully) different pocket. She chewed it like a cow would chew on grass, open mouthed and slowly. With her body crouched low and arms spread over legs. It was weird. So weird to see a doctor adopt a pose like some kind of delinquent gangster.

“Did I say that aloud?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you do have blood on you.” Kat pointed to the bloody gloves staining her white coat pocket. The woman peered down to see what she was gesturing to and merely blinked as if she was the odd one for even mentioning it. 

“I’m a doctor. Is it that weird that I have blood on me?”

“...I don’t know the answer to that.”

“At least you are honest.” The woman replied, taking another vicious bite. “I am Dr. Shoko Ieiri.”

“Oh! Yeah, I know you.”

“Promise I am not a serial killer.” Shoko tilted her head, “God, as if I could find the time. Killing and hiding bodies takes so much energy and planning, makes me yawn just thinking about it.”

Kat nodded, as if she understood. Mentally she was thinking about what her parents said. Dr. Ieiri was a kind but weird woman. 

“Why are you hiding in a bush?” Kat asked, unable to help herself because she knew why she was and the reasons weren’t very good so she was desperate to know what had this grown woman doing the same if albeit with different vibes. 

Shoko sighed deeply around the mush of beef in her mouth, hanging her head in despair.

“I fucked up.”

“...you killed someone?”

“Why are you so morbid? No, I literally have magic hands. I can bring back the dead if I want to, in order to kill someone at this point I’d have to want them dead.” The old woman huffed, clearly miffed at Kat’s assumption that she would ever fail at her job. “No. I cried.”

“...sorry?”

“You don’t know me, so you don’t realize, but that’s not something I do. I mean, I have been through some shit…friends sliced and diced in front of me, friends joining murder cults and becoming human puppets for kinky freaks, or perfect specimens waking up alive and walking away before I can even weigh their spleen…you name it and I’ve been through it.”

Kat literally would have never named any of those situations in a thousand years, but she stays silent as the woman continues. 

“Not once did I shed a tear. Not in public anyways, and nowhere near my place of work.” -this seemed to be the crux of her anger and disappointment. “It wasn’t just a few tears either. It was a complete and utter meltdown. I’m talking about snot bubbles and dry heaving. Absolutely redefined ugly crying.”

“What happened, what made you cry like that?”

“I dropped my favorite mug.”

Kat stared at the crazy bush woman and she stared back.

“It was a very precious mug.”

“Yeah I go that.”

“No you don’t.” Shoko insisted, and for a moment Kat didn’t even feel like she was talking to an adult. She felt like was talking to one of her classmates about a boy they liked, trying to make them more appealing. 

“Okay, then explain it.” She pushed, more out of habit than need to know. She was her father’s daughter after all, and she suffered fools willingly. 

“My ex-boyfriend made me that mug. He’s the one that went off to do the cult leader thing. And the puppet thing too.”

-and just like that, her anger burned out any of her inherited chill. 

“You are a weird, weird woman and I am leaving right now to find an adult.” Kat snapped, standing but Shoko grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down.

“I am an adult.”

“Liar!” 

Shoko gave an unexpected chirp of laughter. 

“You’re fun, what's your name?”

“Stranger danger!” Kat mulishly answered, refusing to participate any longer. Sitting down (because god, the woman was strong) and crossing her arms in a pout. “Your ex-boyfriend was a weirdo and so are you. Get out of my bush.”

“He was and I am, but I don’t think you can claim this bush anymore than I can.”

“I can if I pee on it.”

Her laughter was more explosive this time, she rocked out of her crouched position with the unexpected movement to fall on her ass. Out of pure manners, Kat reached out a hand and helped her sit back up.

“Ah shit, I think I beat you to that. Fuck pregnancy. Nobody ever tells you how much you end up pissing yourself every time you sneeze or laugh.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yeah. It’s my third, if you can believe it.” 

Kat gave her another lookover, it was hard to tell but the woman did seem to have a bump, but honestly she did not look like she was a mother of two. She hardly looked older than Kat’s mother.

“Do you think maybe that’s why you cried? My mom says being pregnant is hell and your hormones can make you do crazy shit like lift cars or cry at pizza ads.”

Shoko nodded, “It normally doesn’t affect me this much. The first one was smooth sailing, hardly felt a kick. The second one just made me want to sleep all day. This one seems to be driving me around the bend emotionally. I mean things are not great right now. Work is a mess because the person who usually helps me file ran off to get married. Who knows if he’s ever coming back, but it also means my filing system is being destroyed by all the newbies who keep trying to stick in my department. On top of being knocked up, hungry all the time and working overtime, my husband is out of the country until who knows when. We have a great nanny but I feel bad leaving the kids all day while I’m at work.” She started to rub her temples, " which I don’t usually get upset about because I know their dad steals them away for adventures but these dumb hormones keep messing with me. I feel bad about everything and gross,  like I want to throw up and eat a hamburger at the same time and get really upset when I can’t.”

“It would be disgusting.”

“I know! -but all day long I want to eat meat. I ate two plates of ribs for lunch today. This isn’t even blood, this is BBQ sauce.” Shoko pointed out, and Kat nearly laughed at the pitiful expression on the older woman’s face. “I went to get a third plate but it was empty and the canteen was done cooking for the day, and then I went to get more to drink -”

“And then you broke your favorite mug.”

“Dropped it on my foot.” She added, as if this explained everything. Which it kind of did. Being pregnant was hard enough, Kat couldn’t imagine the added stress of being a doctor and mother on top of it. Plus it sounded like she was lonely and out of depth. 

Kat could relate.

“What about you? Why are you hiding in a bush?”

“I’m supposed to be interviewing for a job here. I..I mean it’s sort of pointless. I come from a decent bloodline. I have powers, training from my parents too. The interview is sort of just a formal thing where I have to come in and sign stuff. It’s not a big deal.”

“...and you don’t want to do it.”

“I don’t want to do it.” Kat echoed, voice small and low. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to be a sorcerer. I know what happens, I know it’s hard work, that it’s dangerous and consuming; but how can I just… nope out. The people who do that are the worst. Cowards.”

“Maybe.”

“Thanks. Very helpful.”

Shoko shrugged, “Sorry, you came to the wrong person for inspirational motivation to be a hero. I’ve not been active in the fields since my high school years, but even then I didn’t fight.”

“...but you’re very strong.”

“Thank you. I am, but I’m also smart. I don’t have a death wish, so I don’t throw myself into situations I can’t handle. Truth is, I’m the first person to take off, quick as I can out of a fight. If you think that’s cowardly, I don’t care. I’ve seen a lot of what happens to the people who stick around just because they think it’s the right thing to do. Cowardice and bravery  ended up sharing the same cold box in my line of work.”

“Wow. Put that on a poster. Right next to the kitten hanging from the tree saying hang in there. Really give people a complex.” Kat sneered, utterly unimpressed with her depressing outlook. Shoko smiled at her like she was being cute.

“My point is, don’t get caught up in your guilt. It doesn’t help you or anyone else. You want to not fight? Then don’t. People are going to die whether you do or you don’t. You’ve got one life, and you don’t need to be defined by your powers if you don’t want to be.”

Kat allows the words to wash over her, it’s not…exactly what she would call inspiring or kind. Shoko’s tone is blunt. Frankly, it’s clear she doesn’t care what Kat decides, but in an unexpected way it does make her feel better. It’s nothing her parents haven’t said before…but this woman is a stranger, and she isn’t being nice. If anything she’s a bit mean, but Kat can take her at face value and relax. 

“Plus, there’s more to do here than just fight.” Shoko adds on, “I mean, I don’t suggest going into medicine. It sucks balls.”

“How are you an adult again…?” Kat mutters.

“Stayed out of a lot of fights and lived.”

“Ugh.”

The older woman laughed at her put out expression.

“Oops, I peed again.”

-and just like that, Kat’s plan to stay in the bush until death crumbled. She pushed aside her own miserable pouting to help the (weirdo) pregnant lady out of the bush and walked her back onto the campus. From there Kat followed Shoko back to her office where the old woman waddled to her private bathroom to change. 

The teen wandered around, poking her head into jars (a mistake) and flipping open random books she found on the bookshelf next to the desk. Which was covered in paperwork, but on top of which was a small box, opened up to reveal shards of a pink mug. Kat was curious enough that she didn’t think twice about lifting the pieces out. It had broken completely, but it wasn’t so bad really. The bottom was still mainly one whole piece. Another piece was the handle. It had broken but it wasn’t unsavable.

“Hmm.”

It was not the same as her dolls or nails, but Kat decided to try regardless. Something inside her wanted to do…more. Wanted to cheer the weirdo woman up, or maybe it was just the way her words seeped into her brain -she didn’t have to fight, but she didn’t have to do nothing either, this was her life and she could do what she wanted…

She picked up the pieces and got to work. 

In mere seconds, all of the pieces were fused back together. Melted back with a bit of her power, it was a perfect fit, the spaces in between were ink black where she had bonded it, but it was cool to the touch when she picked it up. 

“Oh wow.” Shoko voiced, returned in a new outfit. Devoid of her scrubs and coat, she looked more normal and more pregnant. She picked up the mug with a smile. “You fixed it.”

“It wasn’t -” Before she could finish her sentence, the door was thrown open. In came a familiar face, Satoru Gojo. She had seen and met him a few times, mostly in her youth but he always seemed busy. To Kat, he was like Santa Claus, instead of presents it was to annoy her parents into missions before vanishing. Normally he was an over cheerful scarecrow of a man. Today he was a scarecrow on fire. His expression was a hurried, scared one and his body language frantic as he zipped across the room to grab at Shoko. 

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Yuta texted me, he said you were sobbing? At work? Is it the baby? The kids?” His voice was shaking as patted her down, seemingly trying to find the cause of her tears, Shoko for her part, allowed this near violent frisk with calm dignity. 

“I’m fine, what are you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Russia until next week?”

“I told you, Yuta sent me a text. Do you really expect me not to be worried?”

Shoko huffed, “I said I’m fine.”

“He said you cried like a lost kid in a mall.”

“I broke my favorite mug. That’s why I was crying.” Shoko held up the mug, and Satoru’s eyes nearly went cross looking at it as she shoved it in his face. “-it is the one Suguru made for me for Christmas that one year. I accidentally broke it, and was upset.”

“Oh..” Satoru let her go to hold the mug delicately, “Did you fix it like this? I didn’t know your powers could transfer to objects.”

“They don't. She helped.” Shoko then pointed to Kat, “I found her in a bush.”

If this was a strange thing, it didn’t seem so with how Satoru smiled.

“This is so cool! Your energy is a part of the mug now.” 

“Oh. I uh…was just testing it out.”

“She’s here for an interview. I want her instead.”

“Wait, what-” Kat’s brain started to whirl, she had no medical skills. Nor did she see herself as a doctor. Not that being a fighter was really what she wanted either, but that was what she was here to interview for. On some level she was mentally prepared to deal with it.

“Okie dokie. I’ll tell ‘em.”

“Hey-” She tried again, but neither was giving her a chance.

“I’m not training her to be a doctor, but I think she can help with my files. Plus her powers remind me of Yaga’s kinda, I think I could help her more than someone like Yuji or Yuta.” Shoko  said, to Kat’s bafflement. “Unless you want to do something else?”

Now, finally Kat was given attention but found she wasn’t ready. Her mouth hung open a little like a fish thrown onto land, it took several lingering seconds for her brain to push back into working order. 

“I…guess that’s okay. Unless I change my mind…later?”

“Sure. It’s whatever.” Shoko agreed, then cheerfully took her mug back. “Think about how much money we will save if she can fix weapons. I still have that blade Maki broke, that cost us a pretty penny.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve just been tricked into working for a weirdo?”

Shoko gave a wide smile, “Because you have.”

Katsuko frowned, all because of a damn mug.