Chapter Text
You’ve always known Gojou Satoru. In fact, one of your friends dated him. But you’re not sure how it ended because she seemed to dislike him now. Whatever, you’re not complaining. He’s a recurring customer of your bakery shop anyway—as long as it wasn’t a messy breakup wherein you have to lose a customer to defend a friend, Gojou’s not going to hear one peep from you.
You’re not sure how you met him. You think he was your customer first before he was a friend of a friend, then an ex of a friend. What you do know is that he waltzed into your shop on your first day of opening. He decided he liked Matsunaga’s cake, so he kept coming back, and Matsunaga was the type to eat up compliments. Gojou’s the one to serve them, in abundance—because your friend, the baker of your shop whom you adore since your college days, gives his favorite customer free slices of cake. On the house, he said, as if you weren’t standing beside him.
Anyway, you let it slide. Gojou’s harmless for the most part. Strange, weird—yes. But harmless .
You’re used to seeing him randomly on your shifts. He’d come in, and be whimsical with his greeting and orders. Then he’d take his usual seat by the window, staring out the quaint street as if he’s literally not blindfolded, and the first time you saw the very sight of it, you thought, huh, humans are weird.
So you let him be. Whatever. At least he’s nice, he jokes a lot, pays great tips, and also attracts more customers.
Because have you mentioned to yourself how he’s also cute?
Like a Korean drama lead actor type of cute, except he wears an anime-esque outfit all the time that kind of water down his male lead beauty. But once he’s out of it, well—you try not to stare and wonder what he’s like as a boyfriend. You’ve seen him a handful of times wherein he dressed normally, and you understood why he dresses weirdly because normal Gojou can make panties drop ( whaaaat ? Who said that? Definitely not you.)
He’s also nice to you if you do not count the few times he tried to hit on you. Nor the times he deliberately tried to pull a prank on you.
But whatever, he’s a recurring customer. You know each other, you tolerate him enough, and that’s it.
A simple greeting, exchanging a few small talks that kept this minuscule and low-maintenance friendship you have before he takes his seat, or when he’s in a mood (meaning he has more energy than usual) he’d try to be nosier with your life. He established a lighthearted dynamic between you and Matsunaga. Although, sometimes you think he likes Matsunaga more than he likes you. You cannot blame him. You cannot bake to save your life, and no, you will never willingly slide him a free slice of cake. You will always make him pay.
You like to imagine that maybe he has a weird job like he expels ghosts and fights demons—that would explain his outfit and flippant personality. Then, you’re this background character to his show, like you help him save the world by providing him with his favorite pastries. And the audience doesn’t really like you, but they kind of do because you’re this relatable normal girl in a strange world.
Anyway, work is fine—manageable as you juggle your personal life and running a small business. That’s why you have time to be bored and have these incredulous scenarios to pass the time.
You do like your job. You like the customers most of the time, so you don’t mind your shifts.
Painfully bereft of any adventure, you create narratives in your head. Thank heaven’s Gojou returns enough to your shop to keep you entertained. At this point, you can write a book about all the adventures he’d had in your head.
The only downside to this whimsical creature, because you refuse to think he’s an actual human with how peculiar he is, is that he never brings a friend.
You don’t mind that he comes back, nor do you mind if female customers gush about him and therefore come back to your shop just to get a glimpse of him.
But you could use a few more customers. And if Matsunaga’s lemon cake is really that good, then why does he never recommend it to his friends or colleagues?
You ask him this one Wednesday morning when he dropped by for some snacks. “Gojou-san,” you call to him, carefully, processing his order as you went on, “where are your friends?”
Leaning down on your counter, butt jutted out due to his too-tall height, he answers without missing a beat, “My friends are weird, Amai-chan—”
“That’s not my name—”
“ Amai-chan , they’re weird.”
“Well, I thought maybe you should promote our shop. You know, to your friends, maybe? Bring them here? Recommend us?”
He continued chewing on the strawberry lemonade tart he mysteriously received from Matsunaga.
You think he has no friends, but you gave him his change instead of saying anything. He takes it.
He’s staring at you as if you’re missing an obvious answer. “I like to be selfish.”
You nod, slowly. “Okay.”
He undoubtedly has no friends. That’s okay. He has you and Matsunaga to come back to.
“Good morning!” You greet, taking your position behind the counter after some inventory checking. “How can I help you?”
A new customer comes—a high school student, shy and reserved but eager for the pastries displayed. You put on your best smile—first impressions last when it’s business.
“Can I have some… hm, muffins? Wait,” he backtracks, “---maybe I can use some bagels instead?”
“The blueberry muffins are great. Especially since they’re freshly baked—crispy on the top, really chewy and warm. It’ll be nice to eat with some hot chocolate, or maybe iced coffee. Depends on your preference.” It’s Gojou, whom you didn’t notice entering the shop after the kid. He seemed surprised as well but equally charmed by your tall distinct friend. “The bagel is a good snack to eat for later.”
You watch him consider Gojou’s suggestions, trusting his opinion despite being strangers. You, who do not have much of a sweet tooth, find yourself inclining to his suggestion as well, considering the pastries along with the student.
And surely, you sold more than you expected when he purchased Gojou’s suggestion.
And the said man beams at you from across your counter, proud of himself. You made sure to give him a thumbs up.
Running a business is hard. You knew that.
This comes much more true for someone who did not major in business in college, but you pushed through nonetheless since you and Matsunaga dreamed of this in retrospect prior to getting into college.
You’re young and ambitious and want to prove things to your family.
The next thing you know, you’re learning the ins and outs of establishing a bakery cafe—and Matsunaga is bright-eyed at the aspect of owning a business with you because he trusts you.
And here you are, without an ounce of doubt and regret with you.
Small businesses are hard, but you’re smart. However, not everything is up to you—and if your landlord decides to sell the building of your bakery shop to someone else, you knew some cracks might show in this belief of yours.
You’re smart. You’re smart. You knew your rights. You can think of a plan. You’ve got this…right?
“What?!” A screech of the wooden chair had Matsunaga and his wife, Seiko bolting out of the kitchen to see you seething, pacing around the empty shop.
It’s past lunchtime, the dying rush hour providing you the quiet and privacy. Matsunaga watched you flip the sign to “close”, nervously rushing to you whose brows furrowed together in anger.
“What the—” you bite down your tongue upon seeing your baker friend’s softening gaze, past his wife and you. “I know. I know! Our lease—it’s ending in three months. I know that! But the notice could’ve come a little earlier!”
You watch Seiko rush to her husband, who worriedly pawed at you, and you cannot help but feel a little sad knowing Matsunaga and Seiko will learn the bad news too.
So you push through, “We’ll renew the lease. We have the right to stay—”
Matsunaga smiles, Seiko nodding in encouragement at you.
Then you stiffen, dying light in your eyes. “Demolish?”
“Demolish?” Seiko echoes.
“No. No! Wait, can’t we talk about this?” you beg, fist clenching in the effort that the couple in front of you had to soothe you.
“Will we need a lawyer?” Seiko inquires quietly, hands still tightly bound to Matsunaga.
Matsunaga sighs. “Can we even afford it?”
He’s right, and you’re regarding this as you shuffle around your shop, arguing with the landlord here and there as Seiko and Matsunaga follow you around for support. And oh, you just want to give them a hug, because even if you do proceed to move locations, the chances of it being as stable now would be unpredictable, considering the short amount of time given to you to rack up the money to afford other places and consider the feasibilities, the possible customers, your branding—
You end the call with a heavy sigh, massaging your temples as you turn to them.
“I know a place,” you start, visibly seeing the couple you adore so much deflate at the lost battle, “and it might take us a lot of effort to afford it, but —”
Matsunaga calls your name. You halt your babbling. “We’ll make it work. You, Seiko, and I—we always made it work.”
It took so much effort on your part not to make your lips quiver as you held in your tears. “I love you guys!” You pull them in a hug, and for once, you don’t mind if you’re not as smart as you think you are—as long as you have your friends.
A priest walks into the bakery shop one night. No, seriously. From his billowing robes to his strange facial tattoos and the fact that he’s carrying some sort of bible told you he’s leaning towards the profession of a priest or something like that. You think it should be a joke, but you work on customer service so you plaster on a smile despite the fact that it’s almost closing time, and other customers in their decent minds already went home, even that student buried neck deep in her papers bid you goodbye 30 minutes prior.
“May I help you?” Not that you do not have any keen sense of danger to start feeling suspicious of him, but your need to drive a business sense is sharper.
“You are standing on sacred land. Were you aware of that, non-sorcerer?” he says, and you’re only realizing how ridiculous he looks with his gothic getup in contrast to your bright-colored candy and sweets decors (because Matsunaga’s launching his candies soon!).
“Sorry?”
“Your ignorance—it leads you to commit atrocious sins to the jujutsu world. To build such an appalling structure atop something divine!”
“Uh… we have cheesecake if you want?“
His face contorts into something of disdain—you’re not sure, his expression already sour, to begin with. “And for that, I will see to it you pay your debt.”
It should be a joke, right?
So when he storms out of there, his robes fanning behind him dramatically only for you to be left behind in your now empty shop, you slap yourself lightly on the cheek and check your temperature with the back of your hand.
Matsunaga went home early with your insistence. That leaves you all alone, questioning whether that was a joke or a hallucination.
Eh, if it was a prank at least it’ll be good exposure once the video comes out.
You shrug it off. It’s not like that was the first time you encountered a strange customer (Gojou, for example). You begin cleaning up, mopping the floor as fast as you can, and making quick checks of inventories.
Until you were ready to head home, keys dangling in your hands when the strangest things begin to happen.
First, with a slight flickering of lights that had you halting on your way out to peer at the fluorescent lights above, miffed at the fact that maintenance is going shit. Then a clattering of falling pans from the back where Matsunaga’s kitchen is.
You stand there, beneath the dimming lights that hummed erratically before it pops off, sending some sparks, pulling a squeal and curses out of you.
You’re not one to believe in ghosts. And moreover, you’re just really tired from the problems already weighing at the back of your mind. If there is a ghost, maybe you’d fight it to let off some steam.
“Fuck,” you mutter, searching your backpack for your phone until you found it and turned the flashlight on.
An empty counter, no ghostly lady behind it, so you move towards it to get to the kitchen—and you know you might die with this stupid decision. Anyone who checks out the sounds in horror movies does not usually end their life going happily ever after.
The kitchen is, for some reason, more atmospheric than you remember—too different from the kitchen you walk into when Matsunaga’s covered in flour and kneading dough. This time, the temperature drops too many degrees, and the pots and pans are scattered everywhere on the floor that you accidentally stub your toe on one.
More clattering of you clumsily making your way around.
Flashing the lights above the cabinets and hooks, you see the shelves still perfectly intact. Maybe a mouse? Rat infestation? Now that could be a problem.
But you also suppose a rat infestation would not make the kitchen creepier.
It is darker—a lot harder to see around. Colder, more unwelcoming despite this place being your second favorite place on Earth. You doubt Matsunaga’s presence can make it work anymore.
What happened?
Midst your attempt to put the misplaced items back in their places, your phone propped on one saucepan to keep the light on you, you sense the darkness beginning to be far more consuming as if it grew humanoid form that aches to swallow you.
The light that granted you to see disappears as you hear your phone clatter to the ground.
And a presence—
You whirl around in search of nothing—are you going mad? No, no. Despite your hammering heart and breathiness and spiraling fear, you know something’s not right.
Damn that priest. Maybe you’ll square up with a ghost next time because it’s certainly going to beat your ass now.
Now that the darkness is erroneous and your vision is making you think you’re blind.
There’s someone there, on the corner. You cannot hear it, but you can feel it—
It’s coming. You realize that with a start, bending down to feel the floor for your phone. The quickness of your breath felt like sirens on a silent night, and you think you’re going to die from that presence coming to you, slow but careful, buzzing with something of dread for you, hatred for you—
A real sound comes from above, and as you follow it, your life flashes before your eyes upon seeing the heavyweight pots and knives dropping onto you.
You duck out of fear, freezing and praying: if the higher being you never believed in would send someone for you now, you’ll kiss the fuck out of them. Please, please please—
Lights come first. Then, “Oi, you okay there?”
A few bated breaths, then you peer up to see… “Oh, holy fuck— Gojou-san!”
He makes a noise of surprise when you throw yourself onto his leg, which is ridiculously long enough to accommodate your form to cling like a koala. “Nice to see you too,” he says, grinning down at you on his leg.
“Something’s—something is here. It was insane. Did you see that? Did you see the knives—” You remember it as you said it, turning to look for those knives pointed to you, effectively pulling yourself off Gojou’s leg. But the knives were no longer suspended above. Instead, they’re neatly placed on the metal table, serial killer style, as if someone arranged them to choose from before they kill you. “Fuck…”
You fall on your butt, looking beaten, and with your energy and adrenaline leaving, you just sat there with a faraway expression.
You’re not sure how long you sit there on the floor, looking so depressing and possibly lost in your mind. You only remembered being human as soon as you see Gojou’s face level with you as he sat down on the floor with you. He’s smiling, as usual.
“You there? Follow my hands.” Holding up a finger across your face, “How many fingers?” He flashed two, then three, then—
You push his hands down back to his lap.
Then you begin to sniff, the events of the day pouring down onto you like hot water. “I promise I’m not crazy,” you say to Gojou, and you’re not sure why you’re pleading until you add, “please don’t stop buying Matsunaga’s cake. We need more customers now than ever. Thi—this is… I can take care of this, Gojou-san, just please don’t leave the shop. For Matsunaga, please.”
It takes him a moment to nod, while you were slow to catch up on his usual gleeful expression. It didn’t occur to you that he doesn’t seem bothered that the kitchen is a mess and that he appeared too understanding of your state—almost as if he expected it and now just waiting for the aftermath.
He even cradles the crown of your head with his big hand. You suspect it is his way of comforting you. Nonetheless, you’re amused at Gojou’s attempt.
You can tell he’s trying to find the right words, glossy lips pursing, then grinning, before he shakes his head at himself. You watch him battle something internally.
“I know,” is what he finally said.
You remain passive, unsure. “You… know. You know what?”
“Of what happened. You’re not crazy.”
“Wh— That my business is in danger?” You’re a little slow, but you’re getting there.
He shakes his head, scratching his cheek in slight frustration. You can tell it’s not with you. “That—no, not really. I mean—with what happened here. You encountered a Grade 2 curse. You didn’t see it, but it was here—”
You turn again in search, frantic. “Well, shit! Where is it?!”
Gojou grounds you back when he grabbed your shoulders, pushing you back to your seating position. “I exorcised it.”
“Huh?”
“Exorcise—”
“Like, what, a priest or something? Because if that’s the case then did you know a priest-looking guy came here saying shit like the sacred place or something and that—”
His grip tightens on your arm, forcing you to stop blabbering. “Amai-chan,” again, that’s not your name but the nickname he had given you, and you’re not about to protest as his tone was even as he looks straight at you, “--you’re safe. What happened was that somebody led a Grade 2 cursed spirit into this shop, possibly because, yes, this used to belong to an ancient infrastructure significant to the Jujutsu world, but it’s no longer relevant nor salvageable that it had to be torn down hundreds of years ago. Well, curse users are crazy for the most part so they thought of punishing civilians. I got rid of it, exorcised it.”
You blink at him.
He sighs, “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?”
“What’s a sorcerer?”
Sitting more comfortably with you on that floor, he began explaining things to you, starting with more technical terms such as sorcerers , cursed spirits, cursed energy, cursed techniques, special grades, curse users, vengeful spirits —until he lost you because truth be told, he never thought he’d come to this point wherein he willingly explains things to a non-sorcerer. And explaining his world to someone like you who did not even see the curse is like teaching algebra to a pre-schooler.
He eventually found a way to water it down, as comical as it was to see you nod in understanding when you said he can ward off (exorcise) bad spirits (cursed spirits) by using enchanting spells (Limitless Technique, Six Eyes) and you compared him to your hippie friend who believed in crystals and horoscope predictions of boyfriends cheating and crushes confessing on the end of the month.
But you sort of understood. In your own way. You’re surprised he is very patient with you, so you make a mental note of giving him more free slices of cake both for saving you and for being too patient with you.
Something dangerous happened to you that night in the shop—that much you understand, and thankfully Gojou was there to save you. You, however, latched on to the fact that his job, vaguely as it had been explained, includes expelling bad juju.
“So… it’s gone. I’m fine,” you say, but not with finality.
Gojou pats your hand. “You’re fine.”
“Because—”
He seem to perk up, making himself look bigger as he said, “Because I’m the strongest.”
“What about the guy?”
An exasperated sigh, “I’ll look for him, but for now, I don’t think he’s coming back.”
You nod, digesting it as much as your muddled brain can.
He’s surprised that you even believe him in the first place. Then again, you did experience something out of this world, and it’s a miracle you’re not connecting the dots wrongly to him. For all he knows, you could have tried to stab him and called the police on him if things had gone even more south.
He dons that self-satisfied smirk again, seeing that you somehow caught up.
Until you frown, brows scrounging together thoughtfully, “Are you supposed to let civilians know of this… thing of yours?”
This part is where Gojou should have known he made a mistake and realized that he might have messed up letting you learn about his world, no matter how granulated you took it, but in his unbeatable-special-grade-reverse-curse-technique-Six-eyes calibrated mind—it sang at the fact that you’re finally sort of paying attention to him. And he might save the world on a daily basis and get doted on by some of those whom he saves, but nothing beats the pride of a man who was able to save a cute girl.
So he shakes his head, grinning, “Well, no… but Amai-chan is my friend, right?”
You seem to like that, nodding and smiling too. Friend ! Of course, Gojou is your friend, your bad juju-repelling friend.
Little does he know he’s signing up for something akin to a personal ghostbuster of yours.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, Dad,” you say into your phone one morning thereafter when you thought nothing strange will ever come your way anymore. It’s barely past six in the morning, and your head is not even in the right place yet. “The building’s been bought, and the new owners really want to demolish it. That’s why we can’t renew the lease—”
You listen to your father cut you off to give you unsolicited advice, already listing off things you haven’t thought of yourself already. Past the horizon, outside your bakery shop, the sun rises with a blink of orange lines across the dusty skies, barely opening its bright sunny eyes yet.
You begin unstacking the chairs, warming up the ovens, and opening the registry—mechanical chores that kept you abuzz.
“I don’t know yet,” you answer when your father asked you where your shop will relocate, wincing at his disappointed sigh.
It’s no longer at the forefront of your consciousness, really—that thing in the kitchen long forgotten. You think you are not the type to piss off a ghost or even attract demons. You like to think of your life as this slice of life, barely any plot type of television show that people put on as a noise in the background.
So why ? Why the hell are you staring at a wet streak of blood swiped across the walls of your cute floral-themed restroom? And you sort of lament the death of those yellow flowers on the tile you carefully chose yourself, until your instinct kicked in that you might be in danger—a streak of blood is never a nice gesture, was it? If the ghost wrote ‘I like you! Don’t worry! <3’ you think you’d rather have this.
The pungent smell of something rotting comes after when you registered the alarms going off in your mind that you almost gag before you’re stumbling back.
Shit.
“Dad, I’ll call you back.”
Shit. Oh, shit.
You breathe, forcing yourself to think.
Then you blink—fuck.
It’s gone.
A special grade for a special grade.
Once Gojou had the curse cornered, there is no other choice but to get rid of it—and it knew, fighting back with extra force as Gojou marched towards it with bloodlust intent, its end spelled on the flashing lights of red, then blue, and to the faint eye it comes like quick blinding lights, gone before one can even breathe.
The strongest sorcerer stood there with a domineering presence, and curses cowered at the sight, reeling back for refuge before they become the next target. They might not be the best thinkers, but their survival instincts come kicking in from time to time. Every step he takes is purposeful—and he delivers a promise when he slaughters each curse one by one.
Gojou finishes his mission with style, with no curses left unscathed under his Limitless, nor undetected by his Six Eyes.
A shrill ring of his phone comes. He should keep it on silent, watching some curses slither away, startled.
When he picks it up without a glance, he’s surprised to hear you .
You never call him, even when he gave you his number that one time when he said he wanted to see a play. You just nodded your head and gave him those watchful eyes like you were figuring him out.
“Hello~” he greets, a cheeky smile on his face.
And you’re off on a nervous tangent. Something about ghosts and horror movies, but you don’t mention death—just monsters and angry spirits.
And you’re saying something about weird things happening lately, and you’re surely freaking out.
“So, yeah—I mean, personally, I like to keep my shop ghost-free. Or demon-free–I don’t know. I just want that thing to stop.”
A noncommittal noise from him.
“And I think they might be in my storage this time. I heard it, I just know—”
Look, Gojou Satoru might have a tiny crush on you, not that he might or might not admit to it, but he never expected this to be the outcome. Well, what did he expect? For you to sing praises to him, doting on him for being able to save you and agreeing to finally date him? Maybe, maybe not.
“What?” he asks again.
“I heard some footsteps from the storage room,” you say, a little muffled like you’re hiding—which he realizes you probably are. “And I don’t know about you but the last time I checked it out I almost died, like the first idiot person to die in a horror movie style.”
There’s silence as he considers it, but mostly he’s trying to see if you have more to follow up on. Realizing you're not, he nods, “Okay, I’ll come by.”
You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, thank you! I owe you one.”
He thought for a second if maybe this is the time to say maybe you should go out on a date with him, whatever , not that he cares if you say yes or not—but he also does not want to take advantage of being the only sorcerer you know. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable either, and he’d hate to have you only saying yes for fear of losing a sorcerer to rely on.
“Sure, Amai-chan. Don’t do anything I would do,” he says.
You laugh a little, nervous. “Right. I hope I won’t.”
“Can you still hear it?”
“Yeah,” you sounded sad.
“Don’t move. I’ll be there in—” he checks his wristwatch, “five minutes.”
“Really?” There’s wonderment in your voice. “So reliable,” you awe. “Your girlfriend’s gonna be so lucky.”
He grins dumbly at that, but there’s an awkward pause on your end.
“Uh… thanks again, I really owe you one!” then you hang up, and Gojou’s not sure what to do with you anymore.
As soon as he comes, you’re leaping out of your usual spot on the registry, bolting to him like he’s some sort of shield from everything.
And then you’re pointing towards the location: the kitchen, the restroom, the storage—telling him about the odd things happening, the misplaced items, the strange sounds, the knocks. He nods, leaning down towards you as he listens—and you try not to swoon at the undivided attention he’s giving you, and the fact that he doesn’t make you feel like you’re crazy (you got to check your standards).
He obliges easily, waltzing in there with the grace of a man coming to save a damsel in distress. You don’t think too much about that, just wait anxiously for him to come back out.
He tells you he took care of it, nothing more.
You frown, looking between him and the back of your bakery.
Then you thank him with a free slice of cake.
For the first time, he doesn’t accept the free aspect of your offer but takes the pastry nonetheless. He’s urging you to sit down with him so he can tell you about the crazy thing that happened in his school that day—and you realize this is the first time you’ve heard of this, so you listen, and you think, yeah , the idea of kids running around with weapons is indeed crazy.
He overpays that one slice of cake you give him when he leaves.
Matsunaga stares at you wildly one night, when you’re extra jumpy and extra tired. “The hell is up with you?”
You’re walking with him to his house to have dinner with Seiko, but you’re admittedly quite out of your head. “Have you ever felt some weird presence in the bakery?”
“What?”
“I’m serious.”
“No, I know you are.”
You stare at each other. You kind of wish he was as receptive to your craziness as Gojou, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Is this about the move? You should take a day off.”
You groan, and you have the urge to fight with him—but you let it go. “Yeah, maybe. I think a day off is fine.”
Matsunaga smiles, eyes crinkling. You think if he’s not so adorable, you might have smacked him already for being—well, for being not haunted . It’s isolating to have demons terrorize only you.
“Oh, by the way,” he starts, “a strange priest came looking for you the other day. You have a weird set of friends.”
“What?!”
The thing is that once your mind registers ‘strange occurrences', ‘paranormal activities’—you immediately know who to call, automatically at this point. So, really, you don’t mean to do it sometimes but he’s the only one you trust. Your personal cute bad juju repeller. What?
“Gojou-san,” he hears you say into the phone for the fourth time that week, and you sound almost like a wounded and timid puppy.
He figures this is not as fun for you as it is for him, so he makes sure you can hear his smile when he asks, “Ghosts and demons again?” He lets you call them that.
You sigh tiredly. “Yeah,” a pause, “…roof this time, I think.”
He taps Ijichi, pointing to a turn that had him staring curiously at Gojou. “I’m on the way.”
He arrives with you fidgeting outside, wearing a frilly yellow apron this time, Gudetama print in the middle. As soon as you notice him, you give him a small smile and wave before pointing at the roof.
Surely, he sees a couple of flyheads banging on your pipelines. They didn’t stand a chance with him.
“You baked?” he asks after.
You nod, smiling. “Matsunaga wanted me to unwind so he taught me!” At least you’re not moping around.
Matsunaga notices it again. But this time it was Gojou’s frequent visits and the fact that you seem to be leaping in the air a lot and relaxing only when Gojou comes.
“Huh,” you hum to yourself when he tells you this. “You’re right. I should give him a break.”
Matsunaga’s not sure what you’re talking about.
“I take up too much of his time,” you groan into your hands. “You think he’s sick of me?”
This is not the conversation he was hoping for, but he thought better. He recalls every time he sees Gojou coming in to look for you, “No. I don’t think he minds, actually,” he says thoughtfully. The man comes in to the shop, looking taller and bigger than ever in search of you. Then he's off marching like a soldier into battle—like how he does when Seiko asks him to go capture that big spider in the bathroom. He looks at you, and he wants to say something.
But you are already arriving at some conclusion yourself. “You’re right. I should stand up for myself and stop relying on him.”
He doesn’t know what you’re talking about. Still, he has a feeling that’s a bad idea.
And that, you did. You learned to calm down, as much as you can at least when strange things happen in the bakery.
You figured some of it was harmless coincidences.
What you didn’t expect, however, was for it to start happening inside your own apartment—your own damn home, a train ride away from the bakery shop, and it’s no longer a matter of ignoring things.
It started with a rhythmic dink…dink…dink of your leaky faucet. Your cat knocked over your vase, cool . You love him regardless. But your chair scraped against the floor and the next thing you know, your books hovered in the air and flew about like they were birds.
You’re scared shitless, ducking under the table with your phone clutched in your hand. Gojou’s name flashes, dialed up—and you feel bad for always calling him, but you don’t know where else to go.
This is getting out of hand. Gojou’s probably asleep—you don’t know, but you need him to answer. You also note to offer your firstborn child to him at this point.
So, pardon, if someone so inconsequentially clueless as you feels so fucking scared. Like the shit-your-pants type of scared, but also the wait-no-because-this-ghostbuster-guy-is-cute type of scared.
“Things go bumping in the night—”
A book whizzed past you.
“I need answers, Gojou-san!”
You simply didn’t mean to make the strongest (he said that himself) your on-call ghost buster. It’s not your fault he’s the only one you know.