Archive of Our Own

The first time Yoshiki sees them, he thinks that they stand out against everything else. He has to squint through the summer’s blazing sun and the heat waves that distort the air above the street to make sure his eyes are working right, but he spots ‘em clear as day.

Weird, he thinks.

They look to be about his age. Maybe younger.

A trio of kids with strange, dark uniforms that look too hot for Kubitachi’s summers but a little more formal than what Kibogayama requires.

They’re different.

Not just the uniforms but the kids, too. They talk different, they look different, and they act different. Two boys and a girl stand across the street from him, and Yoshiki has a hard time picking which one stands out the most.

It could be the girl. With her bright orange hair and loud, brash demeanor. Her voice carries over a crowd in a way that’s natural — like she’s used to speaking in higher volumes. She’s pretty though. Objectively. Her hair falls just past her shoulders, pulled into a loose bun, but the thing that really makes her stand out is the eyepatch over her left eye.

It’s just so… jarring. Yoshiki knows that it’s rude to stare, but it’s not every day that a girl with an eyepatch walks through the village. Especially not one that seems to enjoy attention rather than shy away from it. Yoshiki could probably count the number of girls around here who would willingly wear an eyepatch with the kind of confidence this girl has on one hand.

It could also be one of the boys. With the dark, erratic hair and bangs. Yoshiki’s heard plenty of times from people all over the town: cut yer bangs! They’re gettin’ too long! Man, the lady at the grocery store would have a field day with this guy’s hair. He’s already tall, but the long and untamed mop that sits on his head makes him seem even taller.

The boy also doesn’t seem very approachable. Yoshiki supposes he can relate there — with his closed off demeanor and neutral expression. Although, this guy seems more angry than Yoshiki, who’s usually told he just looks bummed out all the time. But then there’s also what looks to be… scars? On his face? Two scars that cut across both cheek bones, and one that goes straight through his right eye. It’s off-putting, Yoshiki thinks. Like, what could have caused that?

But, if he were to be honest, the one that stands out of the most is the last boy. There’s… a lot to him. Yoshiki’s pretty sure he was first drawn to the pink hair — the color of cotton candy — sitting on his head. If people weren’t already staring then, they’re staring now. Ain’t no one around here has colored hair, and it’s clear that he has a brown undercut, so why the hell he has pink on top, Yoshiki has no idea.

But then there’s also these… other features. Like, this boy is loud. Really loud. He laughs loud, he smiles loud, and he talks loud. He looks at his two friends, giving them equal attention, and that’s how Yoshiki can see his scars. If he thought the other boy had it bad, then this kid had to have been put through some sort of hell.

He’s got a big gash that cuts from his left eyebrow down to his right cheek. Then there’s this other scar that sits on the left corner of his mouth. And this kid seems to be missing the tip of his right ear, and he’s lost the last two fingers on his left hand. Not to mention, all of their uniforms are black with long sleeves, and this guy is wearing a red hoodie underneath it. Seems like the type of invite trouble. The kind of kid that Yoshiki’s ma would tell him to stay away from.

Yoshiki thinks he should just go about his day and keep making his way over to ‘Hikaru’s.’ It’s best not to invite any more weirdness into his life, and he’s already got enough to deal with.

But he can’t help staring.

There’s this weird feeling that won’t go away, and it’s coming from those three kids. He’s never seen them before in his life, and then they just show up in Kubitachi out of the blue?

They came from nowhere, but they’re acting like they’re familiar with the place. People are openly staring and pointing them out, whispering to their friends, partners, or children, and none of them even seem to care.

“Yoshiki!”

It’s ‘Hikaru’s’ voice. All sing-songy. The way he likes to say his name. Yoshiki hates the way that he likes it, too. It’s special, something that ‘Hikaru’ only does for his name, but they’re not supposed to have special things.

Not like that.

Yoshiki peels his eyes from the three strange kids and finds himself face to face with ‘Hikaru,’ a half-eaten popsicle in hand, holding out another his way.

Yoshiki takes it as ‘Hikaru’ starts to tease him.

“I was waitin’,” he chirps, licking some of the juice from his fingers. “’Cha git lost?”

“No, I…” Yoshiki turns back to where he was staring at the trio, but finds the other side of the street to be completely empty. It’s like they weren’t even ever there. “I thought I saw…”

‘Hikaru’ hums, stepping closer to look at what Yoshiki’s looking at, but it’s pointless. Those three kids, they’re not there anymore.

“Never mind,” Yoshiki says, stepping away and placing the popsicle in his mouth. He lets the sweet flavor overtake his senses, cooling him off in the unforgiving sunlight as they walk through the market.

‘Hikaru’s’ talking about wanting to see Mincemeat again, seeing if he’ll finally let him pet him. Yoshiki tries to listen, but he keeps thinking about those three kids. It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like they’re here for him.

Still, he can’t seem to find them again, and he and ‘Hikaru’ walk through the entire market. He could just be paranoid, he decides, and tries not to let it distract him from the rest of his day.

The second time he sees them, it’s while he’s eating out with his family. Or, to be more specific, his ma and his sister. Yoshiki sits on one side of the table, in a booth, and looks directly at the back of the two boys’ heads. Just past them sits the girl, but she’s too engrossed in talking about some sort of doll for her to pick up on Yoshiki’s staring.

However, he’s quick to notice a few things.

The first thing that Yoshiki notices is the casual way that the guy with the pink hair drapes his arm over the back of the booth, behind the guy with the dark hair. It’s done seamlessly. Naturally. The boy is mid-laugh at the girl’s story as he does it, and it’s like the action didn’t even require a single thought.

The second thing that Yoshiki notices is how faintly the guy with the dark hair leans into the touch. It’s subtle. Minute. Yoshiki is sure he can only see it because he was watching ‘em like a stalker, but the other boy shifts in his seat, a little more towards his friend, and he settles back like nothing happened.

Neither of them move.

The third and final thing that Yoshiki notices is that nothing happens. The boy with the pink hair all but put his arm around the boy with the dark hair, and the girl didn’t even bat an eye. She just kept telling her story, gesturing wildly with her hands, and didn’t even let it phase her. Like she’s used to it.

Like it’s something that they always do.

“I’ve been seein’ these weird kids around town,” Yoshiki says, walking his bike alongside ‘Hikaru’ back from school. He stares at the ground, at his shoes as they kick up dirt, and he can’t help but think back to that exchange in the diner. He keeps replaying the boy putting his arm around the other boy and everyone being okay with it.

Yoshiki would bet money that other people in the restaurant were whispering, but they didn’t even care.

“Who’re ya seein’?” ‘Hikaru’ asks. It’s more like he’s panting, drudging his way through the summer heat.

Yoshiki can’t help but laugh to himself a little in his mind. It’s hot out, sure, but it ain’t nothing he’s not used to. ‘Hikaru,’ however, probably never experienced a summer like this before. The kind where the air’s all sticky and the sun sets late. The sky right now is bright orange, sorta like that girl’s hair, and that’s when he’s reminded of the strangers he keeps seeing.

“There’re three kids I think are our age,” Yoshiki explains as he swivels his bike around a rock. “They got these weird uniforms, an’ they look weird, too.”

“Weird how?”

“They got scars ‘n’ stuff. All over the face. Nasty lookin’ ones, too, and I ain’t tryin’ to find out what caused ‘em.”

‘Hikaru’ pauses on the path.

Yoshiki’s already a couple of steps ahead of him when he stops and turns around.

“What is it?” he asks, staring at ‘Hikaru’s’ face.

It’s sorta… blank. Like ‘Hikaru’ is trying to recall something. His mouth is slightly parted, and his grey eyes are wide with recognition, staring off into the distance at a point just past Yoshiki. There’s a soft breeze that jostles his hair, white strands brushing over his forehead, as a little crease forms in confusion.

Yoshiki thinks that he wants to step forward and smooth that crease with his thumb, but… That would be wrong.

He can’t be thinking like that.

“I think I seen ‘em, too,” ‘Hikaru’ mumbles.

Yoshiki blinks, surprised, and asks, “You sure?”

Nodding, ‘Hikaru’s’ eyes come back to Yoshiki’s, and he says, “Yeah! I have. They was starin’ at me the other day. I thought it was weird, but then they kept walkin’. It was like they recognized me.”

Yoshiki kicks out his bike stand and leans on the seat of it, holding his chin as he thinks. These kids have been here for a couple of days now, but they’re not in school. So far, only he and ‘Hikaru’ have seen them, but they were staring at ‘Hikaru’ like they knew him.

Yoshiki frowns. He doesn’t like that.

“Have you talked to ‘em?” ‘Hikaru’ asks, miming Yoshiki and leaning back on his own bike.

“No, I only seen ‘em,” Yoshiki answers. “They sorta look like trouble.”

“Yeah, they’re all weird,” ‘Hikaru’ agrees. Then he perks up. “Maybe they’re just new in town!”

Yoshiki only offers a hum in reply, unsure if their reasoning for hanging around the area is so innocent. They haven’t caused any trouble, but their staring at ‘Hikaru’ is what makes him nervous. He’s also not sure what to make of those two boys — if they were just friends or not.

If not, then they definitely don’t need to be around here.

Nothing here for them.

The third time Yoshiki sees them, it’s just the boy with the pink hair. He stands in front of a convenience store, rummaging through his pockets with his tongue peeking out from between his lips. His brows are pinched, and he looks like he’s growing more and more frustrated by the minute.

Yoshiki aims to just keep walking, but—

“Hey, excuse me!”

His voice is really bright, highly contrasting the way that he looks. Yoshiki finds himself freezing in place, unsure if he should ignore the boy or not.

“Hey, uh… guy with… the long bangs?” he asks, sounding slightly pained, like he’s embarrassed of himself. Sigh. “Sorry, um, do you have a moment?”

Yoshiki stands with his back to the boy, his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to stop, but it’s clear that he’s addressing him. It would be rude of him to ignore him, and from the sound of it, he doesn’t seem that dangerous.

With a final, resigned huff, he turns around. “Yeah?”

The boy with the pink hair blushes, clearly embarrassed and flustered. Up close, he looks younger. Less rugged and intimidating. His pink hair is still weird, but it also kind of suits him. It goes well with his eyes, which have a soft brown color that reminds Yoshiki of an oak tree.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I just wasn’t sure if you knew I was talking to you,” he replies, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. He has an accent, which is different, like he’s from the city. “I, uh, I’m just trying to buy some things. My friends and I only have a ¥10,000 note though, and the cashier doesn’t have any change. Do you?”

Yoshiki stares, assessing the boy. He still wears that same uniform and the hoodie. It’s impressive, honestly, how unphased he is by the heat. Maybe he’s used to it from wearing it so much. The boy is also around his age. That’s for certain. He waits patiently, not wanting to rush Yoshiki, but clearly in a hurry from the way that he bounces in place and drums his fingers over his legs.

“Yeah,” Yoshiki eventually decides, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet. “I got change.”

The boy nods and steps closer, saying thanks. They exchange money, and he quickly bows to Yoshiki before heading into the store.

Through the window, he runs to his friends, saying something that can’t be made out. They eye the money that was just exchanged, and the girl nods, turning back to the shelves she was examining. The two boys continue to face each other though, and Yoshiki finds himself watching them more.

The boy with the pink hair says something to the boy with the dark hair, who just rolls his eyes in response. Then, without a second word, they both turn to the girl, but…

Yoshiki peers closer. It’s wrong to spy, but they’re just so different from what he’s used to. There’s something about these two boys, specifically, that intrigues him. He wants to know what it is, why he can’t seem to look away from them.

… They hold hands.

Yoshiki finds himself jerking back in surprise. The first thing that springs through his mind is disgust.

It’s wrong. These two boys are holding hands, casually, fingers interlocked, and they’re both… Okay with it?

Every voice in his head is telling him that this is a sin. It’s the voice of the woman gossiping to her friend. It’s the voice of the store cashier, who he’s sure is already mad and staring. It’s the voice of the other kids in class, talking about how disgusting it is to be gay.

It’s the voice of Hikaru, saying that it’s gross if Yoshiki wants to stay with him.

He takes an involuntary step back, still staring at their interlocked hands. Faintly through the glass, he can already hear the man making some sort of comment, but the boy with the pink hair just turns sharply and says something that Yoshiki can’t make out.

They continue holding hands.

He doesn’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t know what to think. His mind is screaming at him that this is wrong and that he should be angry and disgusted. That’s what everyone here would say, and that’s what his brain keeps yelling.

But his heart is saying something different. He can’t bring himself to feel anything close to disgust. Yoshiki is upset, yes, but that’s not the reason why.

He takes another step back, clenching his fists.

It’s not disgust or anger or disapproval.

He’s jealous.

The three students pay for their things and start exiting the store. The cashier isn’t saying anything when the door opens, so whatever it is that was said to him, it shut him right up. They all step through the doors, groaning in the heat, and that’s when the boy with the pink hair notices Yoshiki still standing there.

“Oh, hey—” he starts, but it doesn’t matter.

Yoshiki turns and leaves it behind.

“Hey, it’s you!”

Yoshiki turns, surprised to recognize the voice. And the accent.

He’s still thinking about two days ago, when he saw the boy holding hands with his friend. It looked like more than friends though, and it still makes his stomach churn. A part of him thinks he should ignore the boy, but there’s a nagging urge in the back of his mind to respond.

Reluctantly, Yoshiki turns around and sees the boy with the pink hair running up to him with a wide smile on his face in the middle of the market strip. Honestly, it’s hard to recall a time when this boy wasn’t smiling. This time, he’s with his two friends — the girl and the boy with the dark hair.

The girl walks behind him with her arms crossed. She’s complaining about the summer heat and mumbling something about how she doesn’t miss it out here. It’s a weird sentiment, because Yoshiki’s sure he’s never seen her before, but there’s a bit of twang to her voice, too. Like she’s from the countryside, somewhere.

Next to her is the other boy. Unlike the first one, this boy is a lot more intimidating up close. He’s got these piercing green eyes that always seem to be studying something, like he’s waiting for something to happen. The scars on his face are pointed and jagged, only bringing more contrast back to his eyes, and his dark hair falls easily over his face, giving him a more mysterious and unidentifiable vibe. Staring right at him makes Yoshiki swallow nervously.

“Thanks again for saving my ass the other day,” the first boy says, catching Yoshiki’s attention. He flashes another smile and stops just before him, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I owe you one.”

Yoshiki just shakes his head. “’S’all right. Was just som’ change.”

“Still, I wanted to say thanks,” he insists.

“Just listen to him, dude,” the girl says as she approaches. She hits the first boy on his back, causing him to stumble forward with a soft oof! “This one’s too nice for his own good. It’s better to just let it happen.”

Yoshiki glances between the two of them as the third and final stranger sidles up next to his two friends. The boy he was holding hands with. He doesn’t say a word, and his face remains neutral, studying.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being too nice,” the first boy pouts to his friends.

“Trust me, there is,” she quips. Then she turns to Yoshiki. “Seriously, this one is.”

“I, uh…” Yoshiki doesn’t know what to say. The three of them seem… fine. They’re not as intimidating as he thought they would be, but he still can’t help thinking that they’re anomalies. What were people like them doing in a place like this?

Not to mention, he keeps occasionally glancing at the girl’s eyepatch, and that boy with the dark hair keeps staring at him. There are a lot of eyes on him at once, and he’s not sure how to handle it.

“Dude, you’re making him nervous,” the boy with the pink hair says, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. He addresses Yoshiki, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Yoshiki replies slowly, swallowing. Is it?

“We don’t mean to bother you, but we’re here for a sort of project,” he goes on to explain. “Turns out we might have to talk to some of the locals, and when I saw you again, I thought you might be willing to help.”

A project?

Yoshiki looks between the three of them and asks, “You here for school?”

“Yeah, it’s like that!” he beams.

Like that.

The way that he’s wording things is fishy. It’s “sort of” like a project, and it’s “like” they’re here for school. But they look like they’re his age, and they are wearing school uniforms. Albeit, they’re not like any other uniform he’s ever seen before — not even in movies.

The girl’s seems to be the most normal, but even then, that’s pushing it. She wears a long-sleeved button down that’s cropped above her abdomen. It would definitely be marked inappropriate for school attire if not for the white undershirt. Her skirt is fine though, reaching above her knees, and she wears a pair of tights and brown loafers.

The boy with the dark hair wears a long-sleeved shirt and pants, and the shirt has a high collar that nearly hides the entire bottom half of his face. His shoes are fine, though they look a bit ragged, like they’ve been well-worn.

The boy with the pink hair doesn’t have a collar at all. His shirt or jacket or whatever is laid over a red hoodie, which stands out more than anything else, and he’s got red trainers to match the color. His pants are a different cut than the other boy’s, but they seem to be made of the same material, so it just leaves Yoshiki confused.

The weirdest thing on all three uniforms, however, is the button design. Yoshiki’s never seen it before. A little gold button with a black, swirling pattern in the center. The number of buttons is different across each uniform, but every uniform has at least one.

So, if they are here for school, then it has to be a weird one. Maybe some sort of private school, because what kind of school allows uniforms like that?

Yoshiki looks back at the boy, who’s still waiting for an answer, but he offers a small smile to let him know he’s not in a rush. He’s worried about what kind of rumors will spread if he’s seen hanging around them too much, but one conversation for a school project shouldn’t be too bad.

“I guess, I don’ mind.”

The boy smiles wider. “That’s great! I’m—”

“Yo!”

It’s ‘Hikaru.’

Yoshiki turns, surprised, and sees his friend walking up with a large grin on his face. His eyes are closed, but he saunters anyway, reaching his side and stopping before the trio.

“Oh, hey,” Yoshiki says quietly. “I was on my way.”

‘Hikaru’ places both hands on his hips, looking out at the three strangers, and says, “What’re you up to?”

Looking back at them, there’s something noticeably different. It’s hard to place, but they all seem less relaxed. The boy with the pink hair briefly glances at his two friends, who stare at ‘Hikaru’ with unreadable expressions.

If Yoshiki were to pin them as anything, it would be… tense?

That’s not quite the word for it, but it’s close enough. Their body language hasn’t changed, but they’re suddenly less welcoming and open like they were with Yoshiki. A part of him panics, his heart racing.

Shit, he thinks. Do they know?

“We were asking your friend for some help with a project.” It’s the boy with the dark hair who’s speaking. Yoshiki hasn’t heard him talk up until this point, but his voice is smooth. Steady. He’s calm, back to his stoic expression, and when he turns to look out at the different shops, he continues, “We’re not from here, but we were assigned to come here for some research. We were hoping to talk to a local.”

‘Hikaru’ nods, shrugging. “Well, I’m local.”

“Your friend is, too?”

“Yeah. Why?”

The boy hums. “No reason. We just might like to talk to you both about the village history and geography, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” ‘Hikaru’ offers. “Right now?”

The boy with the pink hair opens his mouth to answer, but then the other boy cuts him off.

“How about another time?” he asks. “We didn’t mean to interrupt so suddenly, and we should be getting back to where we’re staying. It’s getting late.”

He doesn’t mention where.

“Fine with me,” ‘Hikaru’ says plainly. “Guess you know where to find us.”

“I’m sure we’ll see you around,” he replies.

The three of them turn to walk off, and that’s when Yoshiki notices the glowing red pupil in ‘Hikaru’s’ eye.

Yoshiki sits out on the riverbed, just past where the water likes to rise. It’s late, and he’s gone and snuck out, not really feeling like staying in. He can’t seem to shake the conversation from earlier in the day — the way that those kids’ demeanor changed, and that look in ‘Hikaru’s’ eye.

He didn’t like it one bit.

The river’s more like a creek here, with low water levels and soft streams. It’s peaceful out at night, and all he can hear are the evening bugs and the water trickling by. He removes his shoes and digs his toes into the soft mud, sure that he’ll get a scolding later, but for now, he just wants to sit here.

The sky’s really bright out, too. A million stars blink over him, through the trees, shining with the moon. A part of him wants to lay back and sink into the mud. Maybe lightning will strike, and he can die here — become a new Yoshiki. A different Yoshiki that’s still somehow him.

But would that really be him?

A rustling just to the right of him, too far back to see in the night, catches his attention. Yoshiki squints, but he’s not too worried. With a sigh, he simply says, “I know it’s you, Hikaru.”

More rustling, and Yoshiki sits up, scowling. “Stop tryin’ to scare me. Just c’mon out.”

“Sorry,” he hears in reply.

And it’s not ‘Hikaru.’

It’s the boy with the pink hair.

He steps out from the trees and into the light. He’s not wearing his school uniform anymore, donning a light t-shirt and a pair of shorts. His hair’s pushed back and ruffled, like he just rolled out of bed. It’s almost plausible, if not for the fact that there’s no way he should have been able to find Yoshiki here.

Yoshiki moves to his hands and knees, ready to stand and run. “Are ya followin’ me?”

The boy holds his hands up like he’s meant to surrender and says, “No! What? No. Don’t worry.”

“How the hell ‘cha find me then?” he asks defensively, seeing the boy’s shoulders slump immediately.

“Okay, listen, I was… sort of following you, but not, like, to kill you or anything,” the boy tries to explain. He then closes his eyes and sighs, like he knows he just said the wrong thing. “That’s bad. What I mean to say is that I just wanted to talk to you.”

“What for?” Yoshiki interrogates. “Why not find me durin’ the daytime?”

“Listen, I swear it’s just to talk, okay?” he pleads. “I’m Itadori, and I’m a second-year at Jujutsu Tech.”

Yoshiki can feel his nose scrunching in confusion, still alert, as he asks, “I ain’t never hearda that school.”

“It’s in Tokyo, but that’s not the point,” the boy — Itadori — says. “It’s sort of like a religious school. We—”

“‘Sort of’?”

“It’s pretty unconventional.”

“Like a cult?”

“… Not really, no.”

“You hesitated.”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

Yoshiki can’t help it, finding himself snorting. Deciding this kid isn’t about to hurt or kill him, he returns back to a sitting position to face the water and sighs, crossing his arms over his knees and placing his head over his arms.

“Whaddya want?”

Itadori makes his way over, sitting next to Yoshiki on the bank. He stares up at the sky for a moment before finally answering, “It’s going to sound a little weird at first, but my school deals with… sort of paranormal things.”

And all of the alarm bells start going off in Yoshiki’s head. They know, they know, they know, they know. They’re here to take care of ‘Hikaru’ and ensure that he stays dead. Whatever the thing is that’s taken over his body, they’re going to kill it, or destroy it, or something.

“Now, don’t go and get the wrong idea,” Itadori says, as if he can read Yoshiki’s mind. “We were just sent to identify and observe.”

Sliding his gaze over to the boy, Yoshiki slowly asks, “What does that mean?”

“It means that there was reported curse activity here, and my friends— or, well, my classmates and I were sent to investigate it,” he replies. “Just observe and monitor for a bit — around a week — not exorcise.”

“Curse”? “Exorcise”?

“I dunno what the hell yer sayin’,” Yoshiki grumbles, because it’s true.

Itadori sighs, scratching the back of his head. “Short way or long way?”

This time, Yoshiki fully lifts his head and turns to him, confused. Here comes this stranger, spewing things about paranormal stuff and curses and exorcising, and now he’s asking “short way or long way”?

“Uh… long way?” he tries.

Itadori only shrugs. “I’m a sorcerer, which is sort of like a ghost hunter. People’s negative emotions give off this energy, called cursed energy, and when it’s uncontrolled, it can create curses. Those are like ghosts, but they’re very dangerous and scary. Sorcerers are people who can control their cursed energy, and they exorcise curses.”

A pause.

“Huh. I guess that was sort of like the short way.”

Yoshiki furrows his brows. “What was ‘short way’?”

“I hunt curses, and curses are like ghosts,” Itadori says plainly.

It catches Yoshiki off guard, and he finds himself chuckling. This Itadori guy is weird, but also easy to talk to. It’s like conversation comes naturally to him, and it reminds him a bit of the old Hikaru.

Itadori looks over at him, a bit shocked, but smiles, too. Chuckling, he says, “I know that it’s kind of crazy, but from what I’ve gathered, you’re not shocked?”

“If yer crazy, then I’m damned,” Yoshiki quips, sighing. “Curses, huh?”

“Yup,” Itadori answers, popping the p. “I go to a school for sorcerers that’s out in the mountains of Tokyo. It’s where we train and learn to use our Cursed Techniques. That’s what it’s called when you can control your cursed energy. You have a technique that gives you different abilities.”

“Like a superpower?” Yoshiki asks, half-joking.

“Sort of, yeah,” Itadori replies, and he says it so matter-of-factly that it shocks him.

“Wait.” He turns and faces the other boy. “You got a power?”

“‘A technique,’ is what Megumi would say, but yeah.”

Yoshiki stares at him, trying to figure out what to make of him. He could be pulling his leg, lying, and if so, then he’s damn good at it. Itadori says everything so honestly that it’s hard to think he’s lying, but…

Superpowers? Sorcery?

Yoshiki’s seen some pretty weird stuff in the world, and his best friend is technically a dead man walking, but still.

“Guess I’m havin’ trouble wrappin’ my mind around it all.”

Itadori nods, looking out at the river. “You see that log?”

Yoshiki follows his gaze, across the water and to the bank on the other side. There’s a log from a fall tree lying across the grass, barely illuminated by the moonlight. “Uh huh.”

Itadori raises his hand, pointing at the log with his pointer and middle finger, and in an instant, the log splits in half.

Yoshiki blinks, unsure of what he just saw. From where he sits, it’s a perfect cut. Like someone took a saw to it, but cleaner. No splinters. Nothing.

He turns to the other boy. “How in the hell—”

“My technique,” Itadori says. “Or one of them. It’s called Shrine.”

“You got more?” Yoshiki asks incredulously.

“I’m sort of a… rare case, but yeah,” he answers. “The second one’s called Blood Manipulation, and it allows me to use my blood as a weapon.”

Yoshiki swallows, uncomfortable, and looks back out at the log. “I don’ think I wanna see that one.”

“Yeah,” Itadori laughs. “It’s a little weird. All of sorcery is.”

All he can do is nod, still unsure how much of it he can wrap his mind around. “So, what’s a… sorcerer… doin’ in these parts? You was sent to monitor a curse?”

“Something like that,” Itadori replies, leaning back on his hands. “We were sent to identify a curse, and if there was one, then we’d monitor it to determine what the school should do.”

“Is that what you usually do?”

“No. Most missions we’re sent on, it’s to exorcise — or kill — a curse.”

“Why’s this one different?”

Itadori turns to look at Yoshiki, his brown eyes burning right into his soul. It’s weird, because it’s like he can see Yoshiki beyond all of the exteriors and peer right into who he is as a person. It’s… vulnerable.

“Your friend.”

Yoshiki’s mouth dries. “I— I don’t… whaddya mean?”

“Your friend from today,” Itadori says with a shrug. “We’ve seen him around here before, and I think he caught us looking at him. Sorry about that, the white hair threw us off…”

In between the pause, Yoshiki wonders what he means by that.

“… Anyway, we didn’t pick up on it until we met him properly earlier,” he continues. “It was then that we realized that this wasn’t going to be a conventional mission. I think Kusakabe knew that when he was sending us in here. A little heads up would have been nice.”

He grumbles out that last bit, clearly frustrated, but Yoshiki is still left confused. “I don’t… git it…”

Itadori looks over at him with a soft and patient smile. It’s so starkly different from what Yoshiki is used to when he talks to people around the town. It’s like Itadori isn’t judging him for anything, for not being the best or the smartest, or the most outgoing, or for—

“Your friend is different, right?” Itadori asks. “You have to know that.”

“I—” Yoshiki stops himself from defending ‘Hikaru.’ Would there be a point to dancing around the truth? To playing dumb? He doesn’t think so. Not with Itadori. “Yeah…”

Itadori only hums. “We thought at first that he was a curse, but that doesn’t seem to be quite it. Care to tell me about it?”

Yoshiki finds him curling in on himself, returning to that sitting position that helps him feel small. He tucks his knees to his chest and rests his head over them, hugging himself. It’s not something that he likes to talk about, and he’s not sure if he should even be saying it to Itadori, but he’s just so easy to talk to. So non-judgmental.

“You ain’t gonna believe me,” he mumbles into his arms, ducking his head down.

All Itadori does is laugh, saying, “I just cut a tree with my mind from across a river. Trust me, I’m open to anything.”

Well, he’s got a point there.

Yoshiki sighs, his forehead still pressed into his arms. He tries to make himself smaller, but it doesn’t chase away the aching feeling in his heart and throughout his entire body. Maybe talking about it will help him feel better. Maybe these people — these sorcerers — can help him.

“Hikaru’s dead,” he says, his voice vacant and low. Even after all this time, it still hurts to admit it out loud. His best friend will never be his best friend. Not like that. Not anymore. “He died months ago. Whatever it was that took over his body, it came back as him. But it ain’t him.”

There’s a small pause as Itadori processes the information. It’s probably not every day that he hears stories about dead people coming back and coming back wrong. Yoshiki doesn’t really understand what curses are, but they don’t seem to be dead people. Just things born from negative emotions.

Lord knows Kubitachi has plenty of that.

“Hikaru ain’t even human,” Yoshiki admits, and he hates the way that his voice cracks. “He don’t know what it’s like to be human, an’ I don’t want him to be human. I just want him to be ‘Hikaru.’”

He can feel his throat tightening up, like someone’s wrapped their hands around it and started squeezing. There’s a pressure in his chest, too, and it makes it harder to breathe. Every time Yoshiki faces this truth, it’s hard.

There are tears welling before he can even think to stop them, and he can’t even keep himself from crying out, “He’s dead, but he’s my friend! He don’t mean to hurt people, an’ he promised me he would stop! He protects me from the bad things that keep poppin’ up ‘round here, and he’s been tryin’ to be good. For me. He’s different, okay?!”

The words are scratching, clawing their way out of his throat, but it’s true, and he hates himself for it. He hates it so much that he’s exploded as a person. Physically, he’s thrown his hands in the air, gesturing wildly as he rampages. Mentally, he’s everywhere and nowhere, trying to make sense of everything around him — everything in his heart.

Yoshiki doesn’t have a rational reason for why he cares so much for this ‘Hikaru.’ It’s not his Hikaru, and yet he cares for him so deeply. He keeps telling himself how wrong it is and how he’s only delaying people’s mourning of the real Hikaru.

He has robbed his friends, his family, everyone who ever knew him, of the ability to properly lose and grieve Hikaru, all because he’s selfish, and he can’t even say why.

Why, why, why?

The question bounces around in his head like in a pinball machine, and no answers ever seem to come up.

Yoshiki’s never going to get them. Not around here. Not in this village, where gods still exist and love is a sin. It’s the one thing that he hates the most — how he loves. Yoshiki has so much love, but none of it’s right. It’s suffocating to be here, and he just wants to breathe fresh air. To love freely.

To not look in the mirror and see a monster.

“You love him, right?”

Itadori’s voice pulls Yoshiki from his self-spiral. Maybe it’s the use of the word love. Maybe it’s the easy assessment, said more like a statement of fact rather than a question.

Or maybe it’s the lack of judgement in his tone.

His words are soft, and his question is honest. There’s no bite or edge to it. Itadori doesn’t ask Yoshiki with the intent to tease, scold, or damn him. He just wants to know: Does Yoshiki love Hikaru? Does he love ‘Hikaru’?

Does it matter if his answer is yes to both?

“I care ‘bout ‘im,” he replies, shrinking back into himself. “You wouldn’t git it.”

At that, Itadori scoffs. It doesn’t sound mean, but it still cuts into Yoshiki, like he’s telling him — with a single sound — that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“Trust me, I do get it,” he says.

“No, you don’t,” Yoshiki spits. “I seen you walking ‘round here with yer friend. Yer both… whatever you are, and you just don’t git it. You don’t git to be that here.”

“I think I figured that out pretty quickly, but it’s not like I give a fuck,” Itadori says, laughing coldly. His language is jarring. Yoshiki doesn’t hear people around here cuss often, and when they do, it’s never language so… bad. “I’ve been through hell and back for Megumi, so I’m not about to let a bunch of strangers tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Megumi. It’s a girl’s name, but he has to be referring to the other boy. Yoshiki never picked up on anything romantic with the girl with the orange hair. Either way, he seems to know what he’s talking about, and that’s what makes it worse. Even if Itadori and this guy aren’t a couple, he knows that Yoshiki’s feelings aren’t normal.

“It’s easy fer you to say,” Yoshiki grumbles, sitting up to look at him. “You don’t live here.”

“Just because I’m not from here doesn’t mean that I don’t know what it’s like,” Itadori counters, but his voice is soft. “At least to some degree. And my friend, Kugisaki — the girl I’m with — grew up in a village like yours. Trust me, I know what it’s like.”

“It’s still different,” Yoshiki insists. “You ain’t gonna understand.”

“All I’m saying is that it’s okay,” Itadori says gently, turning to look at him.

His eyes are sincere, like he’s really trying, but he doesn’t know the full context.

“How can you say that when you don’t know me?” Yoshiki asks.

He hasn’t seen everything that ‘Hikaru’s’ done or what he’s capable of.

“Because it’s just true, objectively. I didn’t need anyone to tell me if it was okay or not,” he continues. “Megumi is the most important person to me, and I know that’s all that matters. I didn’t even realize it was love until I lost him, but I didn’t need to know until I was ready.”

And he doesn’t realize that it’s Yoshiki’s fault.

“It’s different,” Yoshiki mumbles, dropping his chin into his hand. “Hikaru ain’t— I mean— it’s just— he’s… a monster.”

And there it is.

The truth.

The cold, dead truth.

‘Hikaru’ ain’t Hikaru, and ‘Hikaru’ ain’t human. He doesn’t get human morals, and that makes him bad by human’s standards. He’s killed people, and he doesn’t understand why living is valuable, just that Yoshiki’s life is valuable.

It’s selfish.

Itadori eyes him, silent for a moment. He studies Yoshiki, but he’s not judgmental, and it’s weird, he thinks. Not being judged. Everything that he’s been saying has been without judgement, and yet it’s still strange. Yoshiki is used to people yelling by now.

“I was a monster, too,” Itadori eventually says. “He still loves me.”

Yoshiki opens his mouth to reply but closes it, unsure of what that means. They could have very different definitions of “monster,” but something in his gut tells him that Itadori understands. He’s not sure how or why, just that it is.

Still, Yoshiki shakes his head. “You can’t mean it the same way.”

“I’m sure I understand to a certain degree,” he tries.

“You ain’t ever killed a person, I bet. You ain’t ever been responsible for someone’s life or been the reason someone dies.”

Itadori only raises an eyebrow.

“You ever hear about a devastation in Shibuya and Shinjuku?”

What? Where did that come from?

Furrowing his brows, Yoshiki nods slowly. “Folks ‘round here say it was a bombing.”

At that, Itadori laughs. It’s different from his other laughs. This one sounds more pained, more dry, almost like a scoff. He shakes his head and looks back up at the sky, sighing.

“I caused the devastation in Shibuya, and Megumi blames himself for what happened in Shinjuku,” he says. His voice sounds hollow as he stares into the stars, a million constellations reflecting in his eyes. There’s guilt there, and a world of pain. Something in his tone tells Yoshiki that he’s not lying either, but… how can a kid his age cause that much damage?

People were terrified for weeks that Japan was going to be attacked by foreign invaders, and he remembers hearing something about the U.S. military being deployed, too. Rumors like to spread and bend around here, so he never knew how much he believed, but he remembers seeing the news about Shibuya when it first aired.

There’s no way…

“I did it,” Itadori reiterates. “Or, well, technically, the curse inhabiting my body did it. And the same curse did that with Megumi’s body in Shinjuku. And the same curse wouldn’t have been alive to do it if Megumi hadn’t saved my life. And the same curse wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t saved Megumi’s life.”

He lets the information sink in — the overwhelming weight of all the death that this boy and his partner seem to carry on their shoulders.

The way that he talks about it is guilt-ridden. Yoshiki finds his heart sinking, feeling terrible for not knowing the truth and feeling even worse for having judged Itadori. Before him sits another kid who’s just as damaged. He’s seen death, and from the look in his eyes, he’s lost loved ones, too.

But he still finds a way to love and to be kind. He’s more selfish than Yoshiki could ever be, allowing himself to love openly and carelessly. It’s ironic, because Yoshiki is also the most selfish person he knows for keeping ‘Hikaru’s’ secret and allowing a double to take Hikaru’s place.

Where’s the line? Does it bend in a sorcerer’s world?

“Do you see it?” Itadori asks. “We were both overtaken by monsters, and we both remember that sensation of killing. Of causing mass destruction. I’ll never be able to forget it, and I know that Megumi won’t either, but… we saved each other.”

Does Yoshiki get it?

The way that Itadori so casually expresses his love for this other boy is something that he envies. They’ve saved each other’s lives at the cost of thousands, and while he’s sure the story is a lot more complicated than that, it’s something that Yoshiki could never fathom.

No, there’s this box here. He has to exist within it. He has to fit in it, because otherwise, that’s your whole life that you’re throwing away. Itadori exists in a world where people have superpowers and loving is easy, but that’s not here in Kubitachi.

That will never be here in Kubitachi.

“I have more blood on my hands than you or Hikaru could probably ever have combined,” Itadori says, still staring up.

Yoshiki looks at him, surprised. He’s unsure of what to say or make of it, because he can’t find it within himself to look at Itadori and see a monster. Not for killing people, and not for loving another boy either.

Is that what Itadori sees when he looks at Yoshiki and Hikaru?

“Megumi, too,” he continues. “But we find a way to make up for it by doing what we do, and I try my best to save people and give them the chance at a proper life.” A pause. “Or death. But what I’m trying to get at is that, sometimes, it goes beyond the person and what they’ve done or what they believe. Sometimes, it’s about their soul and having a real connection to it.”

“What does that even mean?” Yoshiki asks with a small, defeated shrug.

“It means that I think I know how to help you,” Itadori says, turning back to look at him. “And your friend. And, well, your other friends, too.”

Yoshiki narrows his eyes. “How?”

Itadori only shrugs. “How badly do you want to leave this village?”

“I dunno, Yoshiki,” ‘Hikaru’ says hesitantly. He holds up the school uniform for Jujutsu Tech and examines it closely. “How’s this stuff even work, anyway?”

Yoshiki shrugs. “I dunno much about it either, but from what I gather, it’s a like a school. They know about you, and they wanna show you how to help people.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever git the concept of helpin’ people,” ‘Hikaru’ admits. “I know it’s good to do, but I dunno how good I’d be at it.”

“They said there’s someone like you sorta. There’s a boy there who’s childhood friend died an’ she came back as a curse.”

“I don’t git what curses are. Is that what I am?”

“I don’t really know either.”

‘Hikaru’ throws the uniform on over his underclothes, holding his arms out to see how they stretch. It seems to fit him well, and it moves easily with his movements. Despite his apprehension, he’s smiling and beaming in his uniform, showing it off to himself in front of the mirror.

Meanwhile, Yoshiki holds his own uniform, running his thumb and forefinger over the fabric. It’s weird to not be have his old school uniform. He felt most comfortable in it, but this one does seem nice and custom tailored.

He stares at the golden button, just below the collar, wondering if this is it.

Is this where he finds a place in the world for both him and ‘Hikaru’?

He’s been asked to attend with ‘Hikaru,’ who will study under someone named Okkotsu, alongside his friends, who have been invited to the school as managers. It’s a lot to grasp, and Yoshiki isn’t sure if he understands it all.

Itadori tried to explain to him better than the pamphlet he gave him did, but he only smiled sheepishly and said that the pamphlet was made by someone named Gojo and that he was still trying to get a grasp of what sorcery was himself.

Still, it felt… promising.

Itadori’s quiet acceptance felt promising.

It felt like — for once — Yoshiki wasn’t suffocating and drowning in a pit of guilt and self-hatred. It felt like this was something that he could do, some place that he could exist in, and some kind of world that he only knew a fraction of from his experiences with his village. It felt like the kind of world that ‘Hikaru’ comes from.

He’s always said that he wanted to get out of that place, to leave it behind for the city. Jujutsu Tech is located in the outskirts of Tokyo. Itadori said it was only a train ride away. A part of his heart flutters with excitement, and he thinks that maybe it doesn’t have to be so bad after all.

Maybe this place just might feel like a home.