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The campus was quiet these days. The days were getting shorter, colder, dragging the shadows along with them, darker and deeper than ever before, it seemed. The small cottage on the edge of Jujutsu High’s campus had begun to feel more like home over the last few weeks to Toge Inumaki. It was cozy, well-stocked. A bit barren, though, Toge having left most of his belongings back in his dorm room on the other side of campus. After all, this was only a temporary situation.
“Temporary.” That was what Shoko had called it. When she officially discharged him from the infirmary ten days after he arrived, he planned to move back into his dorm room. Shoko disagreed. She wanted him away from the center of campus, she said, away from the hustle and bustle, away from the victims of Shibuya and the stress of the Culling Games. The outskirts of Jujutsu High’s sprawling campus housed several small cottages, where special guests and the teachers lived. That was where she set him up to recuperate fully.
It was a nice space, undoubtedly, but it wasn’t his home.
Toge was trying to study, for whatever reason, seeing as classes had been canceled for the foreseeable future. There was hardly anyone on campus, that was why. The Culling Games had pulled nearly all of the students and staff from both Tokyo and Kyoto Jujutsu High’s campuses. Not Toge. No, Toge wasn’t deemed well enough to fight yet. Despite how hard he’d been working, despite the strength training he’d been putting in, despite the endurance training, the studying, the work on his cursed technique. Didn’t matter. He was “Not Allowed to Participate, End of Discussion,” according to Shoko. No matter how much he knew he could help. He’d had a setback, no doubt, but he was not useless. Not yet. Not yet.
His eyebrow twitched as he finished highlighting a passage in his textbook. He took up his pencil, awkward in his grasp, and took a breath, wavering it over his open notebook. Just copy the sentence. No big deal.
“The piercing blood technique was first used in the year 1802 by Hayami Kamo.”
He got as far as “the pie-” before his pencil tip snapped with the amount of pressure he put on it. His right hand was shaking with the strength and concentration he used to hold the pencil. He stared at the page for a moment, at the smeared word, the graphite debris, his eyes feeling dry, stinging, as he tried to steady his breathing.
So what if he could barely study because he was still learning how to write with his non-dominant hand? His only remaining hand. It wasn’t like it mattered right now, anyway. He wasn’t going to be tested on this material any time soon. Classes were canceled forever for the foreseeable future. Because there was no one to teach them, no one to attend them.
Time for a break.
Toge stepped into the small kitchen space, taking a glance out the large, bright windows. The leaves on the trees were turning and falling, and everything was bathed in gold light. Usually he loved autumn. It was his favorite season. Now, looking out at it, he felt next to nothing.
He liked autumn because he liked spending it with his friends. He liked sitting out in the cool air and warm sunshine, leaned up against Panda. He liked sparring with Maki, getting knocked on his ass as dry leaves crunched underneath him. He liked sitting next to Yuuta, their hands wrapped around hot tea or cider, as the wind wafted the scent of earth and leaves and cinnamon and apples around them.
He missed Yuuta. He missed them all. He hated that they were all out there, risking their lives while he sat here twiddling his useless, nondominant right thumb.
It looked like a nice day outside. Yuuta would want him to at least try and enjoy it. Taking a breath, he decided he would. He would try. For Yuuta. For himself.
Toge figured out his first night at the cottage that he had to reach up on his tiptoes to get to the mugs in the cabinet.
No big deal, nothing you aren’t used to, he thought as he stretched himself up. A nerve on his left side twinged as he reached a little too far. He hissed, immediately dropping down, bringing his right hand against his rib cage.
Take it easy, he reminded himself. His limbs trembled from the upset. You’re still healing.
Still healing. It had only been a few weeks. Hadn’t even been a whole month. He was sick of this. Sick of being weak, sick of being in pain, sick of being useless. Taking a breath and steadying himself, he almost tried again, but decided to drag over a chair instead. It took him longer, much longer than he cared to admit, but eventually, he got his favorite lavender mug down from the shelf.
Favorite? When did this mug become my favorite?
He knew the answer, of course. The moment he’d received it, last year on Christmas. Yuuta had gotten it for him, this wide-rimmed purple mug with the most beautiful floral design printed on the front. At the time, he’d smiled and thanked his friend, then spent the rest of the evening pulling his muffler up over his seals, which burned red every time he looked at Yuuta, or that beautiful mug.
Toge positioned the mug on the countertop and opened the fridge, in search of the cider. Shoko was pretty good about taking their requests when she sent an assistant grocery shopping for them. Last week, he and Nobara had handed her a short list of drinks they wanted for the cottage: apple cider, hot chocolate mix (the milk kind, not the water kind), and a handle of rum. Shoko had nodded, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and pressing it against the last item on the paper.
“Nice try. Trust me, alcohol does not help the healing process like you think it does, kiddos.”
There was still about half a gallon of cider left. Toge used his hip - his unbruised, unscratched one - to close the fridge. The jug of cider was heavy and awkward in his right hand, but he set it on the counter fine, and opened it without issue. Pouring was always the hardest part, he had learned quickly. Nobara seemed to enjoy teasing him every time he grabbed a box of cereal for breakfast. “Feeding the floor again this morning, are we?” she would ask, but then offer to help him pour the milk into his bowl. Now, he awkwardly lifted the jug and tried tilting it forward gently, like he’d practiced with his cereal. He realized a beat too late it was completely off balance. The jug pushed into the mug, cider spilling everywhere, the mug slipping off the counter. In his stupid panic, Toge reached out with his nonexistent left arm, sending shooting pains all down his side. Again he hissed with the burning sensation that tore through his left side, immediately curling into himself, into his right hand. The sound of the ceramic shattering on the floor was both devastating and cathartic. For a moment, he just stared down at the mess at his feet. Cider soaking into his socks. Pieces of lavender ceramic scattered all across the floor.
And oh, wasn’t that just the perfect, fitting image?
Just one of the things that had been destroyed since Shibuya. Just one of the things he had destroyed since Shibuya. He’d been avoiding it, driving the thoughts from his mind for weeks, how precarious everything in his life felt, how precarious his relationship with Yuuta felt. He’d only seen the Special Grade sorcerer once since he’d returned in a hurry from Africa. Just once, for about an hour, at the cottage. Toge foolishly spent the time simply showing Yuuta around, asking about his trip, squeezing his hand and swallowing his pain, his insecurities, hiding everything behind a bright smile. But he could see the pain in Yuuta’s eyes. The whole time, Yuuta kept asking if Toge was okay. Every time, Toge answered yes. A few times, Yuuta had reached for his empty left sleeve with a frown; each time Toge had purposefully turned his attention elsewhere, prompting Yuuta to do the same. He did so with a smile:
The flowers, the apple tree, the nice wooden desk and bookshelves, the cozy corner where I stashed all my plushies. Isn’t it nice? Isn’t it cozy? See how nice it is? See how fine I am? I’m fine.
Once, Yuuta put his hands on Toge’s waist, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to focus. But Yuuta had placed his hands too high, grazing the lacerations on Toge’s left side that had barely begun to heal. It was all Toge could do to bite back a wail, instead letting out a sharp hiss. Yuuta had immediately backed off, practically falling to his knees apologizing, tears welling up in his starlit eyes. Toge had smiled at him, despite the ache in his heart, and had run his fingers through his hair gently, lovingly.
Just be here with me, he wanted to say. This is the first time we’re seeing each other in months. I’ve been waiting for this. You’ve been waiting for this, for us - for us to go back to normal. Why can’t you just pretend everything is normal?
Everything wasn’t normal. Nothing was normal. Nothing was fine. Everything was in tatters, in ruins, torn and bruised and bloodied and tear-stained. Nanami was dead. Gojo was sealed. Yuuta had been tasked with executing Yuuji. Maki was covered with burns, Nobara was missing an eye and Toge -
Toge was fine. Toge was strong, people always said. Even as a child.
“That one is strong.”
“He’ll be an excellent sorcerer someday.”
“So calm, such quiet confidence.”
“He’s one of the best cursed speech users the Inumaki Clan has ever churned out.”
“He’s such a good boy, so obedient.”
“He never cries, never whines, never complains. How wonderful that he’s so content and well-behaved.”
“Content?” “Obedient?” “Calm?” He’d been a child. No child was calm and obedient naturally. His obedience and focus had been drilled into him from the moment he was cognizant. He never whined, never cried? That didn’t mean he never wanted to. All it meant was the tears weren’t worth the scoldings, the bruises, the shame, the pain. He used to dream of the day he could finally be free from his Clan, from their suffocating demands and expectations.
He’d been granted that freedom, years ago. But by then, the damage was done. Toge no longer knew how to feel. Only how to suppress. He was praised after a mission? That doesn’t mean you’re good, it means you met expectations. He got a good score on an exam? You could have done better. Panda sought him out to play games? Wow, Panda is so kind for spending time with me. Maki told him the dinner he made didn’t suck? If it had, I would have failed my friends totally and completely.
Yuuta told him he really liked him, that he was kind and strong and brave and cute? That he made Yuuta laugh, that he made Yuuta feel comfortable with himself? I’ve fooled him into thinking I’m a good person. Into thinking I’m worthy of him.
He loved Yuuta, with all of his heart. And he knew Yuuta loved him. Yuuta’s love was something Toge was still getting used to. Love was something he was still getting used to. Yuuta was passion and emotion and love, and Toge was . . . a porcelain mask. Beautiful, cold, emotionless porcelain. Toge felt love, but he didn’t know how to love, not yet. Toge didn’t know how to express himself, how to open himself up to real, deep, complex emotion. For his entire life, he dealt with strong emotion by ignoring it, burying it deep down inside him. That wasn’t how Yuuta did things, wasn’t even something he was capable of doing. Yuuta wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was something Toge both envied and recoiled away from. A feeling he both craved and despised.
Toge didn’t know how to love. That one thought resonated within him as he stared down at the mess he’d made. His life was falling to pieces, just like that mug. His favorite mug, the one Yuuta got for him to express how much he cared for Toge, even back then, even when they were just friends, and nothing more. Toge’s voice, his strength, the two things he’d always relied on, had failed him. Left him broken, disfigured, ugly, unable to save everyone. Unable to save so many people. His friends were gone, his teachers, gone, Yuuta, gone. Off to participate in the Culling Games, off to save the world, off to grow and change and leave Toge behind because he couldn’t even express himself to the one person he trusted most in this world. Because when Yuuta had told him he couldn’t stay, that he had to go and fight, Toge had nodded and sent him off with a chaste kiss and a smile, ignoring the wretched pain in his chest, the desire to grab onto Yuuta and beg him to stay, tell him just how fragile he was feeling, just how badly he needed Yuuta. Because Yuuta allowed himself to be vulnerable with Toge and Toge didn’t know how to reciprocate. Because feelings were bad, emotions were bad, and expressing them only brought shame and pain and scoldings.
“You’re better than this, Toge.”
“Stop crying, now.”
“Stand up. Wipe your face, get up and do it again.”
“I don’t care if you’re tired, you’re not done.”
“I don’t care if you’re hungry, you’re not done.”
“Do it again.”
“Sit up straight.”
“Keep your mouth shut.”
“Grow up, Toge.”
“Stop whining.”
“Stop crying.”
. . .
“Wow, I’m impressed, he’s so good!”
“Oh yes, Toge is a bit on the shy side. A blessing for a cursed speech user.”
. . .
That’s what his grandmother later claimed. Toge was shy, that was all. He didn’t speak, didn’t look people in the eye because he was shy.
Toge had never been shy.
He was starting to feel a bit shy, standing in that kitchen. A bit insecure, a bit overwhelmed. He was just a pathetic broken shell of a person, without even his own physical strength to fall back on now. So what was he, then?
He didn’t even have the strength to clean up his mess. All he could do was press his face into his one good arm, dig his nails into his scalp, and let his weeks, months, years of pent-up pain and frustration roll down his face silently, always silently. He squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars, until the tension in his head was strong enough to distract from the ache in his left side.
Yuuta, he pleaded, his voice shaking even in his own mind. Please, I’m so lost. Please, please come find me, Yuuta. It’s so dark and scary here. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know who I am. I’m so lost and scared, Yuuta. Please, find me.
He heard footsteps, and for a painfully stupid moment, he wondered if it was Yuuta, if he had somehow manifested the one he wanted with his internal pleas. But no, it wasn’t Yuuta. There was no overwhelming aura, no scent of pine and woodsmoke. The footsteps were light, accompanied by the scent of apples and cinnamon. He didn’t look up, didn’t dare show his face in his moment of weakness, in his broken, pathetic state.
The person before him stood for a long moment, seemingly taking in Toge and his misery. A part of his heart sunk even lower; his shame deepened. Then, he heard a heavy breath. A pair of arms slipped around him, cradling his head, being careful not to upset his wounds.
“You’re one tough cookie, you know that?” Nobara’s voice was laced with laughter, yet still heavy, the weight of the situation evident. Toge shook his head. No. No, he wasn’t. He was weak, he was pathetic, he was useless and emotionally stunted. “We’ve been here almost a month and as far as I know, this is your first break-down. Tougher than me, that’s for sure.
“Come here, honey.”
She carefully pulled him closer, away from the counter, holding his head against her shoulder and running her fingers through his hair. Tracing patterns on the right side of his back. A part of Toge thought he should suck it up and show some strength before his underclassman. But the gentle weight of Nobara’s arms around him, the soft feeling of her sweater rubbing against his face, the tenderness with which she stroked his hair very quickly subdued him. For the first time in a long time, he just let himself be held. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. Nobara was right: this moment was inevitable. He was just grateful to her for helping him through it.
When his tears dried up, Nobara’s sweater having absorbed most of them, he finally pulled away. The two of them chuckled, a sad sound, as Toge let his eyes apologize for the state of her sweater. She just waved her hand.
“This thing is old as shit, anyways. Besides, it’ll dry.”
Together they picked up the pieces of the shattered mug and mopped up the cider puddle. Then they poured two new mugs. Nobara balanced on the chair this time while Toge took the mugs from her, one at a time, and placed them on the counter - far away from the ledge.
“Hold - hold it steady, my depth perception is shit,” Nobara laughed as she tried to line up the jug to the fresh mugs on the counter. She squinted her one good eye as she poured, making Toge laugh to himself. The sound spun softly inside his chest, replacing the weight of the burden he’d been carrying. He held the mug under the stream of cider for her as she poured. Then Toge very carefully put them in the microwave, and let Nobara fish them out when they were done.
“No way I’m letting you splash around piping hot cider with your non-dominant hand,” she had proclaimed as she nudged her way past him. Toge fetched some ginger snap cookies from the pantry while Nobara finished the cider off with some fresh ground cinnamon. He discreetly swept away the extra powder that landed on the countertop.
Outside, the two sorcerers closed their eyes and let the autumn sun warm their cheeks.
“Best time of the year,” Nobara sighed. Toge hummed in agreement. They sat out there until their mugs were empty and they had their fill of cookies and gossip. And Toge found himself smiling, truly smiling, a weight having been lifted off him. Just for a moment, for a brief span of time, the two forgot their injuries, forgot their bruises, their scars, their newly acquired disabilities. Nobara closed her good eye, forgetting she had lost one. Toge let his shoulders fall back and down, focusing on the mug in his lap, forgetting the empty sleeve at his side. Feeling the autumn sun warm his seals, the smell of cider and dry leaves putting him at ease.
A couple weeks later, Shoko dropped off a small package along with their groceries.
“This arrived for you,” she said, holding it out for Toge. He took it, and waited until he was back in his room to open it. Inside was a large teal mug adorned with beautifully painted lavender sprigs, and a little notecard:
“I’m thinking of you every day, waiting until I can be at your side again. I love you, and miss you so much. You are so strong, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to mourn. Please, be gentle with yourself.
"Love, Yuuta.”