Work Text:
Another Candle Added
SaShiSu Week Day 1: Shouko’s Birthday
Shouko’s POV
Post-Shibuya
7th of November
~The rooftop of the Tokyo Institute was one of my favorite places in the whole world and I don’t even mean that as an exaggeration. It was one of the places that never changed. Even with the break-in from a few years before, there was hardly anything that was left to be retouched. And I loved that about it.
For one, it was always kept clean enough and spacious enough for me to pace around and best of all, hide from Yaga when I wanted to smoke, and my heels would prevent me from taking a long walk to the smoking area behind the building.
It was open air, and I could always find ways to discard of my stash discreetly.
I always make it a habit to stay behind one of the walls where people who would come up wouldn’t easily spot you. It was the same area where my best friends and I would often hide our stash and play games in between classes.
We never forget the exact spot that was hidden by security cameras and would be secluded enough to muffle our noises because we had marked them.
Stupid stick figure versions of each other we drew own with our sharpies which we thought we could wash off easily. But damn, those things were tough. It didn’t help that blue eyes even labeled our names on the caricatures.
That was one hell of a month’s detention but hey, at least we have immortalized ourselves before we graduated.
I lowered my surgical mask down to my chin and pulled on my hair-tie so I can finally relax the tension building up from the back of my head. My hair danced in the breeze, and I had forgotten how long it had gotten. I used to love my short hair and it if it weren’t for me having to choose between a haircut and getting a drink, well, needless to say, I chose the latter.
I haven’t been getting much sleep. In my years as a doctor, I’ve learned how to get used to it.
You know that saying when it comes to doctors?
The one where we don’t do days and months anymore and time for us is just, morning and evening?
Yeah, that’s how I felt about birthdays.
Not just a doctor.
I know of seasons. I am made aware of them by the change of decorations whether it be the lights or the trees that grow or shed different colors of leaves or if it were the water that fell from the sky, melted or frozen, that’s how I tell them apart.
Calendars to me were obsolete. They’re just pieces of paper I tear of every thirty or so days. Just numbers I lazily circle with a red pen to not forget important events or procedures I was assigned to.
If only alarm clocks and sirens could be things I could just ignore. Unfortunately, every minute counts in my profession. Extremely opposite to how I roll as a person in general.
Time, I decipher through the sky. The transition from different hues of blue like a rippling ocean with blotches of white, fluffed up or a tad bit darkened indicate day, if they shift to a warmer tone of yellow or orange and in are occasions the color of the rouge and pink, then it would be late in the afternoon. But when the shades mix to form the same dark purple of tint like my lips to a ceiling of gray and black where twinkling lights would sometimes scatter and hang low, then I knew my day was (mostly done).
I loved that time, that specific time where silence was warranted, and solitude was partnered perfectly.
Let’s go back to birthdays.
But first, let me rest my legs.
I leaned on the concrete beside our masterpiece and dug through my coat pocket filled with multiple pens and empty vials then checked on the other pocket and gave out a sigh of relief. I had a whole pack plus a few stray sticks left of my stash. I tapped on my breast pocket and felt for the lighter already half-emptied of the liquid that would ignite my reprieve and felt one side of my chipped mouth to quiver upwards.
I grabbed one of the jagged sticks from my pocket and popped it in between my lips, the tint transferring slightly to the white of the hilt as I moved my mouth to keep it still as I lit myself up.
I took a long drag to quicken the process and soon the ash fell on the ground and scattered near my shoe with some of the soot clinging unto the polished pair.
I felt the polluted air course through me almost instantly making my heartbeat ironically faster as I deepened by breath. I’ve been through the process hundreds of times and yet every single first light after a few hours always helps bring me to my senses. It doesn’t make sense, but I feel the smoke actually open up my bronchioles and help me with my circulation. It cleared my thoughts like it was some magic stick that really wiped my stresses away.
Heck, I can’t help but laugh as I look at this poisonous piece of paper.
Some days, I make a bet with myself. Will I die from cancer or get killed by a curse first?
Either way isn’t a good way to die but, we all have to leave some time soon anyway.
Both paths, me being an addict and me being a sorcerer has risks.
I could live with that.
I crossed laced one arm over my abdomen and let the other continue on with providing me with my drug.
I’ve learned to live with the stench of it. The burnt smell was better than the formalin from the carcasses. Too much disinfectant from handwashing and for maintaining my instruments may have already destroyed the receptors inside my nostrils but the smell of my cig, was forever.
It was so strong that it could cover the reek of blood and other bodily fluids I had to collect from my fallen comrades and worse the strange unidentified ones from those monsters.
I took another hit and smiled, “These things aren’t cursed, they’re a blessing,”
Where was I again? Ah, yes, birthdays.
Birthdays were relative to sorcerers.
I for one don’t really give a damn anymore ‘cause that only meant me adding a number to my basic information.
Not that I’m bothered with growing old.
Hell, aging in terms of Jujutsu sorcerers was a gift in itself.
So, I guess, I have to be thankful.
But then, it would be nice if once in a while, I could hear the voices telling me I should be happy about it.
Lately, those voices grew less and less that I got used to the silent messages and packages that were so rarely left on my desk.
Back then, celebrations were mandatory. Probably because, I used to have constant company.
Another hit. This time, it was enough for me to consume the short end of the stick that I had to toss it on the floor and put it out with my heel. I grabbed another and lit up, smoke once more covering my whole face and I passed through it like it was some sort of altar blessing that lifted my mood.
“Those two wise assess,” I whispered to myself, recalling their features when we were younger. Vividly recounting how different we all looked then making me cringe a little at how we donned such ill-tastes or rather blatant disregard for fashion or anything else that was called to be the norm.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but they did make my time as a student special.
Despite the fact that they were obscenely obsessed with their hair and were half of the time in love with their own reflections, treating each shiny object as a reflective surface they used to compliment themselves, those two made my life a whole lot easier.
I started off alone when I entered high school. I didn’t really care for having friends unless they would benefit me or if I needed them to survive. I was very practical and I still am. I knew what I was getting myself into, I was a healer and my technique, unique and rare as it was, practically guaranteed me a free pass to everything.
If I were sent on missions, I knew I would never be sent alone because I was that important.
As I cackled, I let out a few streams of white that almost made me choke but it didn’t matter.
I was so self-centered, and I can’t say that I’ve changed much since then. I needed to survive, and they were my tickets to do so.
And who knew, I’d be partnered up by those two bone heads more than once, separately and individually would eventually bloom into a deeper kind of bond.
A smirk played on my lips now.
I remembered how, as freshmen, I was just sitting through class and be sent somewhere to patch a loser up but then suddenly I was ushered away to be responsible for keeping two people alive.
The two most famous people in campus.
The Special Grades.
A lot of people hated their guts. I crooked a brow at them once or twice, but I didn’t hold them in contempt. To me, one was privileged, the other was scouted. For good reasons.
I shrugged them off easily.
But then, Yaga had an idea to team us up. I wasn’t thrilled. I stomped my way out of the office and didn’t smile the whole-time during transport. I felt left out. Those two had been friends already and I didn’t buy their friendly demeanor. I snorted. Scratch that, flirty approach.
Don’t get me wrong, I rewarded them once or a twice with a few beams but whatever they did, handsome as they both were (and boy did they know it) , didn’t do anything for me.
Platonic wasn’t accurate either.
I felt like they were my family after we got to know each other. I loved them in my own crazy way, and I didn’t mind the weird ass scandalous trio they had labeled us to be. We simply didn’t care. We were friends.
I took a few steps forward and let my eyes linger towards the heavens. In the city, I couldn’t really see much of the stars no matter how dark it was. It was too bright thanks to the establishments and the quiet I wanted was filled with noisy cars in the highway. But at least, I was alone.
I took a clean breath inward and instantly felt myself fade. The freshness was too much and too pure that I missed the dirt of my vice. I perched upon the roof deck as I finished my second stick and caught sight of the school bus.
That’s where we first sat together and had our first assignment together.
It was a pretty laid-back mission. Recover that old dude who got lost in some cursed forest, then, make sure he wasn’t poisoned or whatever and honestly, it was pretty boring. I don’t remember most of the details since I didn’t care about it and I had to other people to rely on so, call me a leech, but that was the truth.
But even that had good reason.
I was surrounded no, barricaded by those two giants.
They had kept me safe and had done most of the work, so I had the liberty to just lazily stroll and stay in the sidelines, flipping my phone open whenever I had the chance, exchanging messages and emails to my admirers and even catching a smoke while they took care of all the fighting.
They didn’t seem to mind me as much.
But they did bicker.
I heard them complain about me since they said it to my face. I just waved them off and told them how important I was. Soon enough, they stopped trying to make me into an active player in the mission.
Things changed when we were sent back to the infirmary.
And that’s when I really placed my eyes on both of them.
But when I looked, I mean really looked, we were already back at the school, and they were the ones who needed my attention.
The whitehaired one didn’t have many scratches on him, but he did manage to get his odd looking spectacles broken. I remember laughing so hard when he still wore it with one eye unoccluded on the subway home (yeah, the bus wouldn’t start because we tried to drive it, don’t ask). He didn’t make much eye contact at first, I thought it was some pompous jackass cool guy thing he had going on but when I finally asked him, and actually made conversation with my classmate, that’s when I understood, he had an overwhelming impediment that was branded as a miraculous part of his skillset which required him to wear those shades.
I offered to get his glasses repaired then.
I can’t help but scoff at Gojo whenever I remember telling him I’d pay for his stupid glasses.
Of course, he went to choose the most expensive one I could afford.
The other one, with the long dark hair tied in the man-bun that those douchey guys liked to fashion was actually tamer than the other. He wasn’t as loud as Six-Eyes, but he was pretty full of himself too. Confident, cunning, they were like twins but not really. I dunno, I easily didn’t like them the first five minutes in but when I was forced to clean up their faces, I saw that like the other boy, he actually blocked a lot of the attacks meant for me.
I offered to tie his hair for him, but he just laughed at me and asked if I even knew how. I had such short brown hair then I was girl so of course I knew how!
So, I flipped him off and gave him a rubber band as a replacement.
At least his payment was cheap.
I offered to buy them dinner then, of course they insisted on meat.
I was rich and I was hungry from the mission, so I indulged.
I dug through my pocket again and grabbed my unopened box. I quickly unwrapped the plastic and tapped it on my palm and got the first one out.
I was about to pop it in my mouth when I couldn’t help but snicker at the memory inside the restaurant.
They didn’t even bat an eye when I told them they could order whatever they want.
Those two, could eat a whole cow’s worth each of meat but I was fine with it. Even I was so famished from the mission and hey, any boy willing to take a hit for me deserved a good meal.
Imagine their surprise when I told them it was my birthday money that I used that day.
Well, I was given a black card for charging but I didn’t want evidence of my purchase so, yeah.
I paid cash.
They walked me back to my dorm and even thanked me for the meal. I thought they were being nice to me because they probably had the idea that if they make nice, they could mooch off my fortune. But then, the white-haired porcupine was a legacy. He was loaded too. And for all I know, with how smooth and silky his raven hair looked, the other dude looked like he could afford some expensive shit.
For two knuckleheads who were, a few hours ago, just classmates, they did go out of their way to knock on my dorm room that night to bring a small cake with one lit candle.
I twiddled with the stick in between my fingers and grimaced.
Those two actually heard me when I said I used the cash I got as a gift.
I was already in my pyjamas and I was ready to crash in my bed when they came barging on the hallway. The loud ruckus and the incessant whimsical tone of Gojo and Getou’s out of tune singing made me swing my door open.
I aligned my lighter towards the cig now and snorted again,
“I can’t believe they even wore those stupid striped cone-thing for hats!”
Crass as they were, the first step out of my dorm room, they had splattered a shitload of confetti and glitters in my face, and I almost choked from inhaling one of the metallic pieces of paper.
God, Gojo almost dropped the cake when I pulled on their ears, Getou almost got scorched by the candle that fell from the round dessert. It was fucking hilarious.
“I wish we took a photo,” I felt a tinge of sadness well up in my chest but took a few blinks and shrugged it off.
It was still a good first year of aging as part of the Tokyo Institute.
I gained friends.
I was fine with being the only girl.
Those two were a lot more dramatic than I was so, it was fine.
They were pretty much no none-sense people. Even if my smoking did irk the two at first, I got to help big ears destress because of it. Sweet tooth had other means to keep him awake but other means were just too graphic for my taste.
I preferred the classics, smokes and alcohol.
Yeah, yeah I know, how the hell did we get our supply? And what business do I have as a heath care worker?
We had our means.
And I had no choice. I was born to be one.
Celebrations?
We didn’t have a lot. Not much differed in the way we did them. Food and booze were enough and the occasional hookie we played so we could go to the arcade or the movies.
I can’t blame them for always wanting to sneak around; they went through a lot of shit despite our age. They had to shed blood and I had to tag bodies. We were freakin’ teenagers, but they didn’t give a damn.
No one did.
Except we did. For each other anyway.
Each year, we would still find ourselves lighting each other candles, buying each other gifts or randomly going out for fun.
We did all of those.
We got our assess kicked on missions.
We got detention together.
We got into fuckloads of crap on occasion.
But we were always comfortably suffering together.
So, every season with them turned out to be meaningful.
What came with the seasons though was the need to grow up.
Adulting stuff was hard.
Next thing I knew, I was replacing another stick with a newly lit one.
We had our own shit going on that we eventually forgot to check on each other’s backs when we needed to the most.
Not that it matters anymore.
I took two drags this time and finally removed my surgical mask all the way before stuffing it in my pocket.
Our occasional shenanigans were founded.
But fuck, that damn beach and that damn lip-scarred man changed everything.
After that, no occasion seemed to weigh as much as before.
Suguru had run off and founded a crazy family.
Satoru had immersed himself in missions.
And I had to work, day and night with shifting from tending to the living to the dead.
Sure, there were still occasional dinners, barhops and hallway meetings between Gojo and I.
But us having to take more responsibilities, we didn’t really have anything to celebrate except living for one more day.
Why should we get that luxury? When we failed our friend?
I blew off another cloud, “God I want to drink,” I hissed.
I wonder if Suguru even partied with those cult members of his.
Did he remember about us even?
He used to send those small, winged curses to bring us gifts when we couldn’t celebrate together.
So, imagine our surprise, on the last month we got to see him when he brought himself as a parting gift----forever.
Nearing Christmas and just past Gojo’s birthday, that tall kid with the earplugs decided to dress up as a damn monk and disrupt the whole school. I mean, sure, he scheduled the whole thing, wow, how considerate but still, he didn’t even bother to give Satoru and I the decency to talk him down.
That reunion, we had nothing to celebrate for.
All we were given back because of it wasn’t our friend…but his body.
Tucked in white sheets where I had to slowly unwrap his incomplete form, stained in a bow of crimson, his skin, colder than the steel he lay in, grayer than the skies that welcomed him inside the morgue building.
The worst fucking gift I delivered to me by his best friend.
Gojo also looked like he had been stripped off of all his joy that night.
And I felt so sad and so incredibly empty to face both of them.
I had so many things I wanted to say but kept my mouth shut firm as he would no longer hear me.
I even forgot about what I did the month before.
I was probably drunk then or passed out.
But I was pretty sure that I didn’t have cake that year for my birthday.
What I did was light one for someone else.
And then another year passed.
Since then, I became a little more indulgent with my vices.
Scotch, Gin and Smokes.
Just a few of my favorites.
I obtained new drinking partners.
But I was slowly losing the last of my designated drivers.
Halloween.
Another reunion gone wrong.
It’s like each time life would give us a year of reprieve, the whole fucking Jujutsu system would crumble under the arms of the curses.
I was at a tent in the middle of it all. Gowned and gloved, half-masked with one stick in my mouth, waiting for my next patient which I prayed would never come.
But then one after the other, that kid with a language barrier, that spunky girl from the country, and what was left of my last drinking partner with the crazy necktie all came knocking through my door.
This year, 7 days after the horrific event, I was delivered a box---
----well a description of it.
A grotesque cube covered with eyes that would blink when touched, housing the person who should’ve been the hope of humanity.
Fuck.
Who would ride the subway with me now?
That was the last gift I was given, and I couldn’t even open it.
I took another stick and popped it in my mouth. It’s been a day since I added another year to record.
I have no drinking mates.
I don’t have people knocking on my door at two am, bringing me a ridiculously sweet pink cake (I hate pink) cake with a single sparkling candle.
No more giants spraying me with a rainbow of cut metallic paper and glitter which would take days for me to wash off my hair.
I would have to go on missions without an actual sword and shield.
Who would I treat for dinners out now?
I want to eat meat and drink and go on crazy karaoke, but could I even do that alone?
I miss those Lennon glasses and that stupid bang that hung on the sides of the other idiot’s face.
It’s quiet tonight.
Too quiet.
I look at the time on my phone, “Oh wait, it’s midnight, so it’s morning,”
My fingers were trembling, and I couldn’t get the lighter to start. I had to take at least 10 tries to get my cig lit.
I felt like I was suffocating from the night breeze, and I could only relax at first puff of my black haze.
Growing old is fine.
Growing old alone isn’t.
Suddenly my cheeks felt like it was being pricked by ice.
My vision blurred so much that I couldn’t differentiate between the city lights and the stars.
My fingers were trembling, and I had to pincer the stick in between my fingers tightly or else I’d drop the only thing keeping me calm on the floor.
I’m so tired.
So, fucking tired.
I hate birthdays.
All I do with each that pass is light another candle, but I don’t do it for myself anymore.
No one does it for their own anyways.
I don’t celebrate life anymore.
I just live it.
I raised my smoke towards the sky, tears trickling down my face as I stood in isolation, waiting and hoping for any sound of a mismatched tune of that song.
That infernal song that made me so attached to them, their voices, their hugs, their memories.
Ureshii na kyou wa.
(Today is a happy day)
Tanoshii na kyou wa
(Today is a pleasant day)
Tanjoubi omedetou.
(Happy birthday to you)
Outa wo utaimashou.
(Let's sing a song)
I hate that song.
It doesn’t make sense to me anymore.
But why do they still sing it for me?
Why can I still hear it so clearly?
Why do they wish me a happy one still?
I don’t want to hear it anymore.
What’s left is just the memory.
So maybe, that’s what I’ll offer a candle to.
The last light I will celebrate with them.
For the memories, I will add another fire.
“Until we meet again, good friends,” I said, releasing my spirit and my heart with the next painful, smoke that provided me clarity of the truth I must accept.
Today, I am expected to celebrate my birth. But until I find meaning again with your company, I shall hold unto this date as any other day.
With one last look at the moon, I took another hit, the last one required to consume the stick before my new watch starts,
“I miss you both. Come sing for me once more,”