Chapter Text
Duck. Swing. Dodge. Swing. Duck. Swing.
Your rhythm was steady as the curses advanced, chittering in their pathetic way as they closed in on you. You ducked under a misshapen arm then swung with all of your might with the wooden baseball bat you had found at a thrift store a week prior. The curse screeched, sending another flailing attack your way that you easily dodged. Swing to the head. Dodge to the side. Swing to one of its many open eyes. Roll away for dramatic effect.
Eventually, the curses that had surrounded you lay dismembered on the floor, your bat and energy making quick work of them. Letting out a satisfied humm, you tossed the bat in the air, smiling as you caught it. “I’m gonna need to get another one of these things.”
The fog scattered Los Angeles’ bright lights, making the whole sky glow as you neared the hole in the warehouse wall. Slowly the adrenaline of the fight seeped out of your body, leaving room for the chill to seep in. Hands slightly shaking, you reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out your cracked smartphone. 3:26 A.M. No other notifications.
“Damn.” You leaned against the wall, tapping the bat against your heel as you watched the time change to the next minute. Good thing you worked evenings.
Sometimes you didn’t know why you insisted on picking up the “night shift,” after work, clearing out any hotbeds of curses that you could find. It was dangerous, dirty (you wiped a smear of blood from your cheek), and utterly alienating. The curses had been there most of your waking life, but judging by the way your schoolyard friends would stare as you talked about them, that wasn’t the case for the rest of the population. Maybe if any of your college buddies could see them you could do late night exorcisms instead of studying or drinking.
Were they really your “buddies” if you refused to stay out past 9 PM with them?
With a sigh, you heaved yourself away from the wall, the weariness already setting in. Despite the effort, you had your reasons for working late. Mom didn’t raise a bitch, and if you were somehow blessed with some superhero powers, why not spend your nights using them? You were like Batman, except totally broke and with no cool tools. A poorer, shittier Batman.
Well, you might not have a Batcave, but you did have a shower that took way too long to heat up that was practically calling your name.
You shuffled through the warehouse, thoughts so occupied with what your signature costume would be that you almost missed the crunch of glass behind you. Tightening your grip around the bat, you let your senses inch out.
Dead rat upstairs. Two just outside the building. Oh, hello…
Cursed energy pooled behind you, more than what the other curses exuded. A shiver ran down your spine as you turned, bat now on your shoulder, to look at the hulking thing that attempted to sneak up on you. It was an ugly curse (not that any of them were particularly attractive) with an amorphous series of faces and hands that you couldn’t keep track of. It moaned, teeth gnashing as all dozens of its eyes trained directly on you.
You raised the bat, ready to swing.
The curse charged faster than you expected, its collection of arms windmilling as it pulled itself forward. You rolled to the side, and a rush of air kissed your scalp as you barely avoided the attack. In a flash you were on your feet and rushing the curse, feet planted sturdily as you swung with all of your energy.
The bat splintered in two as it hit the curse’s side.
“That’s new,” you mumbled, staring at the jagged edges of the piece still in your hand. Your eyes focused on it for only a moment, but it was enough time for the curse to lash out at you. You flew backwards, back colliding with a brick column with a loud crack. Before you could regain your senses, you were knocked to the side, body sliding across the broken glass. The sharp pain was enough to bring you out of the fog and you threw yourself to the side, narrowly avoiding the hit. You wobbled to your feet and watched your now bleeding hand stain the remaining bat fragment.
You could taste death on your tongue. Your death, probably. Well, at least you wouldn’t have to go to work later today.
Nice one, edgelord. Now wrap this up so you can go home.
Your inner monologue always had the best advice.
“You know, making me bleed just makes it easier for me to kill you, right?” you grumbled, reaching down to grab a handful of glass and pressing it into your palm as you made a fist. You ignored the sting and pointed the bat at the beast. All of its eyes followed its movement. “Can you charge me? I don’t wanna run all the way over there.”
To its credit, the curse obliged, rushing you with the same intensity it did before. You sprang to the side, a new energy rushing through your draining blood as you swung the bat against its side. Dodge. Swing. Duck. Swing-
Your rhythm was too predictable. Through the onslaught, you didn’t notice a smaller hand reach around your ankle until it pulled you off of your feet. By some miracle the bat stayed in your grip as the curse swung you against a column, your bones rattling at the impact.
Swing. Ow. Swing. Ow.
Apparently satisfied with how stunned you were, the curse wrapped two of its more meatier hands around your torso, squeezing hard. Your head lolled to the side as it lifted you up, its mouth opening impossibly wide as it lifted you above it. With a groan, you feebly brought the bat above your head, the creature’s eyes never leaving you. Slowly, it dragged you towards the opening.
Copper and death mingled on your tongue. Now!
You jabbed the splintered bat into the curse’s main eye, driving down with as much might and cursed energy as you could muster. The bat lit up in a blue flame that grew larger by the second. Gore spurted out of the wound, forcing you to close your eyes as you continued to drive deeper. The hands around you twitched once, twice, before loosening their grip. You dropped to the ground and scrambled out of the way before its body could fall on you.
Breathing hard, you stared at it for a long moment, but the curse didn’t move. “Holy shit.” You hadn’t cut it that close for a while, and the last time you had been under the supervision of your mentor. Edging your own death, as powerful as the payoff could be, might not have been the most sensible thing to do. Your body seemed to agree as every inch of you screamed in pain.
I’m gonna get blood all over my car interior.
A sharp clap snapped you from your thoughts, and you yelped as you tried to figure out its source. The clapping continued as you turned around on your knees, a look you hoped that was much more ferocious than you felt on your face. Your gaze stopped on a pair of shoes and trailed up a long pair of legs to reveal the culprit. He stood absolutely unbothered by the scene around you, gleefully clapping as a charming smile split across his face. That was as much as you could see, though, as his eyes were hidden by a blindfold that pushed his white hair up at a steep angle.
The fuck?
“You shouldn’t be here,” you croaked from your spot on the floor. “It’s not safe.”
He answered you, mouth wide with glistening teeth, but you couldn’t understand. He was speaking… Japanese? A few words you could pick out, but the pounding in your skull was not helping with the translation. You had picked up a few phrases from your brief stint as a cashier in Little Tokyo, but whatever he was saying was too advanced for you to understand.
“Sorry,” you stuttered a practiced phrase you used often while working in the store. “But I don’t know much Japanese. Do you speak English?”
The man stopped, his clearly exfoliated lips pressing into a frown. He mumbled something to himself before holding his pointer finger up, a gesture to wait, and disappearing into thin air.
Huh?
You shook your head then instantly regretted it, the pounding in your brain only growing more intense. You were absolutely concussed, and now you were hallucinating. Great. Slowly, you dragged yourself to your feet, leaning heavily against the column that almost broke your back a moment before.
Just get to the car. Fall asleep there. Worry about getting home later. You set one shaky foot in front of you. At least Batman could call on the Justice League to give him a ride when he was concussed.
The voice called out again as you went to take another step. You gasped, hands coming up to the column to steady yourself as you whipped around. The walking paintbrush was back, but this time with another person, a middle aged man with kind eyes and a deep scar across his cheek.
You raised a hand to slap yourself. They were still there.
“Please, there is no need to injure yourself further,” the man in the suit started in English, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “We just came here to talk to you.”
You blinked, then pointed a finger at the blindfolded man. “He teleported,” you rasped.
The man in the suit chuckled as he turned to his companion and told him something in Japanese. The other responded, and Suit turned back to you. “Gojo can do that. You’re not hallucinating.”
Leaning harder against the column, you swallowed thickly as your eyes darted between them. “And he brought you… to translate?”
“Correct!” The man smiled in a way that could only be described as fatherly. “I’m Ando Shuji, and this is Gojo Saturo. We’re-” he trailed off as Gojo said something to him. “We come from the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College.”
You repeated the name back to yourself, utterly confused about its meaning. “And you can see -” You gestured vaguely to the carnage around you. “All of this?”
Gojo turned his covered eyes to follow your movement before pointedly kicking at the dead curse. He answered in full before Ando started translating, but there were a few words you knew well.
“Of course,” Ando began. “We’re-”
“Jujutsu sorcerers.” You finished the sentence for him. You cursed your rattled brain for not realizing it sooner, or for not picking up on the amount of energy that oozed from Gojo. These guys were the real deal, actual official killers of curses rather than whatever the fuck you did. Your mentor always warned you to keep a sharp eye out for anyone who went by that title. From what he told you, sorcerers were like the mob. They were focused on hierarchy and wealth and were more than willing to kill anyone not aligned with them.
The wall pressed harder against your back.
Ando took a step forward. “So you’ve heard of us?”
“My mentor had some choice words about you.” Though he wasn’t the most reliable source.
Ando shot a look back at Gojo. “That’s what we’re here to talk about, actually. When was the last time you were in contact with Henry Masuda?”
When you slit his throat, too distracted by the delicious taste of his life draining from his body to notice it spraying all over you.
“Not for a while. He, um, died a few years ago.” Your tongue was lead in your mouth. “Why?”
Gojo sauntered forward, and even though his eyes were covered you could tell that they were analyzing every inch of your face. “He was a curse user, an evil sorcerer. We lost track of him for a few years. Just wanted to make sure he wasn’t causing any trouble.” Or training any trouble, by the tone of Ando’s translation.
Evil? Sure, Henry was a rat bastard, but evil seemed a bit harsh. Then again, you had murdered him over a moral disagreement. Despite feeling like you were totally justified in killing him, and saving a few people in the process, you still had a soft spot for the guy. He might have trained you just to use you later, but man could he barbeque.
You and father figures, huh?
You took a small step towards the men, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t on good terms with Henry, even before his death. He might have trained me at the beginning, but I’ve been doing this on my own for a while. I’m not trying to hurt anyone, I just do it for-” For what? Fun? Exercise? You certainly weren’t gaining a social life out of it. You gulped. “I’m trying to help people.”
An oversimplification of your motives, sure, but not entirely untrue.
Gojo continued to explore the space, picking up the top end of the bat from the ground and running a hand over the lacquered wood. “If you're not a sorcerer, and you’re not a curse user, then what are you?”
The pounding in your head made it impossible to philosophize. “Fuck, I don’t know, man.” You waved your hands helplessly. “I just do this as a hobby.”
That earned a chuckle from both of the men. Gojo returned to his previous spot by the wall, watching as the fog drifted and swirled outside. Your head snapped up as he spoke your name, your full name, the smirk never leaving his glossed lips. “No parents, no grandparents, no living siblings, no mentor.” He hummed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the brick wall. The translator narrowed his eyes, but continued to speak. “No career from that fancy degree you just earned. Tell me, what do you have?"
This was a challenge, you realized, and a proposition. There’s no way in hell he had come all of this way with all of this intel on you without wanting something in return. Something, that based on his questions, you assumed he would want you to have as minimal ties to LA as possible. You breathed through your nose, fighting the urge to fidget in place as you pondered his words. Were they actually coming to find Henry, or was it a farce to get to you? You might be homeschooled in the ways of jujutsu sorcery and woefully ignorant to its world, but you did know that your technique, with all of its untapped potential, was unique. And somehow, he knew about you and your family, though his wording was vague enough that you were confident he didn’t know all of the details. Though, if you wanted to find out just how much he knew about you... With a sigh, you rolled your shoulders and pulled your phone out of your pocket.
3:58 A.M. No other notifications.
“I’ve got half a baseball bat, 20 dollars, and an empty stomach.” You stuffed your hands in your pockets and closed the gap between you and the sorcerers. If they noticed you grimace at the movement, they didn’t comment on it. “You guys like street tacos?”
If you had told your past self from two years ago that you would be fussing over which sweets to buy for that upright stick bug you called Satoru, you probably would have laughed in your current self’s face. The man who couldn’t even fit in the passenger seat of your car, his knees almost up to the windows as he awkwardly tried to eat mouthfuls of tacos while explaining the intricacies of sorcery hierarchy? Please. He had kept insisting on touching your radio, and the long bastard couldn’t even chew with his mouth closed. Yet here you were, waiting in a long line at a popular sweets stall despite the exhaustion in your body, because Gojo had mentioned once that he wanted to try this place out.
Would he want chocolate or custard?
You stepped forward in line, ignoring some of the curious looks thrown your way. Yeah, wearing your motorcycle helmet in line was probably rude, but you couldn’t be bothered to clean your bloody and disheveled face after your mission, immediately driving from the abandoned apartment complex to the sweets line. The sooner you got to the front, the sooner you could drop the cursed object in your pocket off to Yaga, and the sooner you could shower.
You did your best to ignore the way your bloody shirt, hidden under a clean motorcycle jacket, clung to your skin as you stepped forward. None of it was yours this time, thankfully, but the sensation still made you grind your teeth.
Sweets. Yaga. Shower. Sleep.
The line went by quickly as you repeated your mantra. The cashier gave you a tight smile, eyes politely trained to where your eyes might be. You ordered for yourself, a chocolate and a custard for Gojo, and a few treats for Ando and his daughters. A smile pile of souvenirs was already waiting for them in your saddle bag; might as well go out and totally spoil your adopted nieces. You gathered your boxes with a smile not visible to the cashier, said your thanks, and headed back to your bike. After everything was packed up, you got on the sleek machine, thumbed the box in your pocket to double check it was still there, and sped off.
Sometimes you missed that tiny piece of junk that drove you around LA. She still had a cassette player, and the cup holders didn’t open, and she hadn’t had hubcaps in years, but she was still all yours. Though it was hard to completely miss her as you sped by the other cars on your bike. Gojo had slyly asked you what you wanted for your first birthday in Tokyo, “to make the transition more smooth,” he said, and by then you were already aware of the depth of his wallet. You got an expensive new bike, Gojo got a friend who brought him sweets and who could tolerate his presence for an extended amount of time.
Your Batmobile dreams were finally becoming a reality.
Soon (probably too soon, given your disregard for traffic laws), you were back on Jujutsu High school grounds. Breathing in a sigh of relief you parked and hopped off, pawing at your helmet until your tired hands could get it off. With your jacket undone, bloody clothes and face totally exposed, and loaded saddlebag over your shoulder, you started your trek up the school’s ridiculous amount of stairs.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket.
Satoru: You back yet?
You rolled your eyes, but did your best to respond as you kept your eyes on the stairs ahead of you. Tripping down them once when you first arrived was enough for you.
You: Just parked. Going to Yaga.
Satoru: Stop by the teacher’s lounge first ~
You barely registered the request before stuffing your phone back in your pocket, the bag over your shoulder growing heavier by the second. He probably just wanted to pester you about something useless, but you still adjusted your course towards the lounge.
Things were so much easier when you didn’t have a social life.
It’s not like you really had one now, anyways. You spent as much free time as you could with Gojo, but his status as the strongest and his teaching schedule left little time for real socialization. You and Ando had grown so close during his Japanese lessons that he all but forced you into the family, every major holiday in the past two years spent helping his wife Hana in the kitchen and dressing in increasingly elaborate sweaters for family photos. But Ando and you were so close that calling your visits “social” just didn’t sound right. You got along just fine with most of the other sorcerers, grabbing the occasional lunch with Ijichi or tea with Yaga, but those were pleasant surprises rather than steady friendships.
The reality was that most sorcerers merely tolerated your presence, and those that didn’t… You fought the urge to claw at the scar across your throat that was suddenly very itchy. It didn’t take long for the higher ups to learn Gojo had brought you to Tokyo, or for them to draw conclusions on the nature of your cursed technique. The results had been messy. For them.
Couldn’t they figure out that you knew a thing or two about death?
Your feet came to a stop in front of the lounge door, the cacophony of multiple conversations ringing through the thin walls. Was there a meeting I forgot? As much as you wanted to collapse and curl up to sleep right there, you straightened up as best you could and slid the door open.
The room was packed, the usual couches pushed against the walls to create more standing room. A small buffet table piled with sweets sat against the wall to your right as you entered. Nothing as good as what I picked up, you thought smugly, the heft of the deserts over your shoulder a little lighter now. You ignored the lull in conversation as you entered, instead opting to roam your tired eyes over the crowd to find your white haired friend. You caught sight of a group of your less-than-accepting colleagues, Watanabe Fukumi clutching her drink tightly to her chest as her nostrils flared. A man who had never seen before, tall, tired, and blond, stood behind her, dark eyes following you like a hawk as you made your way into the room. Fukumi leaned over and whispered something in his ear, never taking her glare off of you.
As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t blame her for hating you. You were no stranger to grief yourself.
There: a white mop of hair peeking over the back of a couch. Relieved, you rushed over, ignoring the prickling sensation on your skin as eyes followed your bloody form.
“You could have told me you were throwing a party, Satoru,” you grumbled as you came up from behind the couch, dropping your bag next to him and resting your chin on his head. You were always left out of the loop.
He leaned back into your chest as you continued to scan the crowd, plenty of people throwing glances your way and acting like they didn’t when you made eye contact. “Wasn’t me this time,” he chuckled, bringing his finger up to poke at your cheek. “One of my underclassmen left for a few years to become a salaryman, but just decided to come back.” You felt his finger nudge your head to the side, eyes coming back into contact with Fukumi and her group. “The blond one in the suit, see? Everyone is catching back up, trying to figure out why he left.”
You hummed in polite acknowledgement, already trying to find Yaga in the crowd so you could hand off this damned box and go shower. I guess being a sorcerer is better than stocks. “You sure you weren’t the one to drive him away in the first place?”
Gojo whined your name as you straightened up. “I’m the one who he called to come back, you know.”
“Fascinating,” you yawned, already bored with the dark-eyed man in question. “Where’s Yaga? I wanna go home.”
“And shower, hopefully.” He chuckled as your hand smacked harmlessly against Limitless. “Should be in his office.” Gojo’s attention was already turned back to the collection of sweets in front of him.
“Awesome. Thanks.” You leaned forward and grabbed a sweet from his plate, stuffing it in your mouth before he could protest. “I brought you something better.” You unzipped the saddlebag and carefully removed the box of desserts, setting them on Gojo’s lap. “Here, my protection money for the year. See you later.” He didn’t even acknowledge your farewell, too busy opening the box with a gasp and wiggling his fingers as he decided which one to try first. Despite your best efforts, a soft smile broke across your face at the sight.
At times like these, as you wormed your way back through the crowd and to the door, you wished you could crawl inside Gojo’s Limitless and hide from the judgement. Though you supposed he already protected you enough, the fact that you could even roam freely outside of the school was a testament to that. After adjusting the saddle bag on your shoulder, you shuffled your way down the hallway towards Yaga’s office.
The exchange went smoothly, Yaga praising your efficiency as he took the cursed object from your possession. In return, you got to coo at his newest creation, a tiny stuffed bear with a little patterned bow tie. “Hey, boss,” you sheepishly started as you set the adorable doll down. “The back of my shirt got ripped during the fight. Is there any way you could…” You trailed off, miming the action of sewing with a needle.
Yaga sighed, his dark glasses thankfully hiding most of his disappointed expression. “Fine. Just make sure it’s clean when you bring it in tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Usually you got the day off after a solo mission to make sure that you were fully healed before the next. “Another mission already?”
“If the only casualty of your last one was your shirt, then I think you are more than ready for another assignment. Stop pouting.” Ass. As if reading your mind, Yaga took off his glasses and threw you a stern look. “It’s nothing you and your partner can’t handle.”
Your brow furrowed as you watched your superior. Partner? You had been on plenty of paired missions before, but after two years of training under Gojo and Ando you were more than capable of handling yourself. Usually you were only sent in with other people as backup in case the first team couldn’t complete their assignment. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that most people didn't want to work with you. “This isn’t an assessment, is it?”
It was Yaga’s turn to frown. “It is, but not just for you,” he said, putting his glasses back on. “I’ll fill you in on the rest of the details in the morning. Please, go get some rest.” Then, after a small moment: “You’ve earned it.”
You took your leave with a respectful bow and a tired “see you tomorrow.” So it wasn’t a punishment, Yaga’s soft praise made you sure of that. Still, it was odd.
Worry about it tomorrow.
Your yawns grew more frequent as you trekked back to your bike, the warmth of the afternoon sun making you all the more sleepy. Am I going to be able to drive home?
Sighing at the thought, you forced your feet down another walkway towards a row of vending machines. It took a moment for your eyes to focus on the numbers before punching them in. The machine whirred to life and two canned coffees dropped to the bottom. You groaned as you bent down, wondering how someone so active could have such geriatric knees, and claimed your prize. You popped the top without hesitating, knocking back the sweet drink as you leaned back against the machine.
“I thought you said you were cutting back on caffeine.”
The smile in Ando’s voice was apparent before you could even turn to see his face. “I am,” you sighed, already cracking open the second one. “I only got two this time.”
“‘Only,’” Ando tutted back, already closing the space between you. You rolled your eyes, setting the saddlebag on the ground in preparation for his antics. His kind eyes roamed over your form, narrowing at all the blood. “You’re filthy.”
You understood the silent question. “None of it’s mine.” You held your arms out and slowly turned in a circle, your tired brain almost getting dizzy at the small movement. “See? Still in one piece.”
Ando sighed in relief, his calloused hands coming up to your cheeks as he tilted your head around to double check. “Here, let me get it.”
“Do not-“
Too late. Ando stuck his thumb in his mouth and started scrubbing at your cheek in the most grandmotherly way possible. You squirmed half heartedly against his vice grip, tired giggles bubbling out of your chest as you adjusted the can in your hand. “Thanks, Dad, but I can get it myself.”
A small cough interrupted before Ando could assault your dirty face again.
The man Gojo had pointed out earlier stood awkwardly a few feet away, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. He was handsome in a classic Western way, with a strong jaw and cheekbones that rivaled the cursed blade sheathed under your jacket. The pinstripe suit wasn’t too shabby either, and the pattern on his tie reminded you of Yaga’s doll. Blue was definitely his color. You noted these features absentmindedly as you brought the can back up to your lips, but what really stuck out to you was how much darker the bags under his eyes were up close. If it was possible, he looked more tired than you felt.
Ando pulled away from you and waved the man over enthusiastically. “Nanami! Perfect timing! I was just about to track you down so I could introduce you two.” He clapped a hand against your back. “This is Nanami Kento. He-”
You put up a hand to stop him. “Yeah. Satoru told me.” If you were a little less tired and a little more caffeinated you might have perked up at the conversation topic, maybe asking him what the hell Fukimi whispered to him or how stocks worked, but any curiosity you had about the salaryman could wait till tomorrow. Gojo would probably call you to gossip about it later anyways. Nanami’s lips pressed into a thin line at your informal tone, but he didn’t speak up. Remembering your manners, you bowed and introduced yourself with a stifled yawn. “Nice to meet you. And welcome back.” You’ve missed quite the shitshow.
Somehow Nanami’s immaculate posture stiffened even more. He certainly didn’t seem happy to be back. Still, he offered a polite bow in return. “Thank you. Nice to meet you as well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I came to get a drink.” You and Ando took the hint, backing off to your own private conversation as Nanami fiddled with the vending machine buttons.
“Hana wants you over for dinner tonight. The kids miss you, too.”
You groaned, the thought of her cooking instantly making your mouth water. “I can’t tonight. I’m going to bed right after this.”
“It’s 4 P.M.”
“So? I thought an old fart like you would be used to going to bed this early.”
Ando butted his shoulder against yours as whatever Nanami ordered clanked to the bottom of the machine. “You’re cranky today! It’s the caffeine withdrawal, isn’t it?”
“Withdrawal implies addiction,” you huffed. “I can stop at any time.” Maybe I should get another can. “I have an early morning tomorrow and this shit isn’t going to clean itself.”
“Early morning?” Ando repeated back, face scrunched up in confusion. “What, you finally ready to move up a grade?”
“I like my Second Grade status, thank you very much.” It wasn’t the most accurate indication of your abilities, but it’s not like people were lining up to give their recommendation to the higher ups besides Ando, and he was as much of your mentor as Gojo. “I’m sorry about dinner. I can make it up to you, though.” You finished the last bit of your coffee and discarded the cans in a nearby trash bin before kneeling down and unzipping your bag. Carefully, you removed the sweet boxes and straightened up. “I have some more stuff for the girls, but I can swing by later and drop them off myself.”
Ando took the boxes from your hands with a delighted chuckle. “You spoil them too much, you know.”
“Duh, it’s my job.” You could feel Nanami observing quietly behind you. “You’re supposed to spoil your nieces. I get to be their favorite without having to do any of the work of raising them. Work smarter, not harder.”
“You’re horrible.” You could barely make out the words as Ando stuffed a pastry in his mouth.
“Something tells me you’ll forgive me. Make sure some of those make it back home to your family.” With your significantly lighter bag in tow, you patted Ando on the arm and started on your way. “See you guys later!” Nanami gave you a small nod as you walked by.
“Oh, you piece of shit.”
You leaned down and picked up your apartment key for the third time, your uncooperative fingers struggling to grasp it from your welcome mat. With all of your focus, you lined the key with the lock and turned. You almost cried as the bolt clicked.
Finally.
Wasting no time, you shucked your jacket off, shirt and shoes following close behind as you entered your apartment. You beelined to the bathroom with renewed vigor at the thought of your shower. Hot water was gracing your skin within seconds, the exhaustion of the day falling to your feet with the running water. The Angeleno in you almost felt bad with how much water you were using as you scrubbed every inch of your body raw, but the bliss you felt under the thundering showerhead evaporated any drought-minded tendencies from your mind. After an eternity the water turned from red to clear. Satisfied, you wrapped yourself in a plush towel that totally wasn’t stolen from Gojo’s apartment and stepped out.
Your phone rang.
Speak of the devil.
“What?” you groaned, putting your phone on speaker and setting it on the sink as you grabbed your toothbrush.
“Someone’s grumpy today!” Gojo cooed on the other end. “So, what do you think?”
“About what?” You spat toothpaste into the sink.
“About Nanamin, dummy!” Your brow furrowed at the nickname. “Ando told me you guys met.”
You made your way to the bedroom. “For like, two whole seconds,” you snorted as you sorted through your sleepwear. “He’s… fine? I don’t really see what all the fuss is about. He’s just a guy in a suit.” The tie was a nice touch, though.
Gojo blew air through his nose. “Wow, tough crowd. We’ll see if your assessment changes tomorrow, then.”
Your arms screamed in tired agony as you wiggled into a fresh shirt. “Huh? What was that?”
“Nothing! But it’s not everyday a sorcerer leaves for years just to return. It’s an event.”
“I guess,” you mumbled, throwing back your bed covers. Eventually you would have to eat and wash your soiled clothing, but if you went to sleep now you would wake up in the early morning and have plenty of time before you had to clock in. Your schedule might be more stable than in your freelance years, but 3 A.M. was still your prime time. “But not as much to me. I’m used to more unorthodox approaches to sorcery.”
“Ooh, you guys have so much in common already!”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Was your pillow always this soft?
“Well,-”
“Great. Goodnight, Satoru.” You hung up and blindly tossed your phone to the side. The fact that you forgot to turn the light off didn’t matter. Within seconds, you were asleep.