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The first time Nobara saw a cigarette was in the bathroom of her pathetically small middle school. It was resting between some irrelevant girl’s overly-glossed lips, and the smoke came out in thick clouds, quickly thinning out into snake-like tendrils after the initial exhale, stretching up to the ceiling. Someone had put a plastic bag over the bathroom’s smoke detector — how? Nobara had no fucking clue.
And her first thought upon scanning the unfamiliar scene was: why the hell would someone do all this just for some smoke? It was unimpressive, it smelled nasty, and it seemed that hiding it was more work than actually going to class.
So of course, Nobara scoffed and marched past that girl and her friends, locking her stall and making sure to pee as loud as possible in hopes of scaring them off. It didn’t work, but Nobara washed her hands and walked away feeling victorious anyway.
She hasn’t interacted with a lot of cigarettes since then. She knows Gojo’s friend Shoko, who works as Jujutsu Tech’s primary doctor, smokes a lot, but Nobara’s so used to it that the smoke looks more like an accessory.
And of course, in the city of Tokyo that she loves to visit, there are cigarette butts lying on the side of the road and around the back of the outlet stores. But they hold the same weight as roadkill — Nobara doesn’t pay them any mind.
She didn’t care for littering. She cared even less for cigarettes.
But things are different now.
A box of cigarettes sits heavy in her palm. The red logo blazes through her one-seeing eye — the other is wrapped in bandages, thanks to Dr. Shoko’s care. If it weren't for the doctor’s quick action and reverse curse technique, Nobara would be dead. She’s forever grateful, even if she can’t push herself to say it out loud.
Or say anything out loud, actually. She hasn’t spoken a word since she woke up in Shoko’s care — with her school uniform still drenched in blood, with the picture of Itadori’s blood-soaked face fresh in her mind. She remembers the feeling of that damn patchwork curse’s flesh against her face. Unnaturally cold, alive only because of venomous cursed energy.
Her head throbs just thinking about it.
She hopes Yuuji and Megumi are okay. And Maki and Inumaki and Panda. She hopes everyone is okay.
Because that’s all she can do. Hope.
It doesn’t make the anxiety any less violent. She’s been on the verge of a vicious anxiety attack for at least an hour, since Shoko said a quick goodbye on her way out to save someone else’s life.
Everything is moving so fast. Too fast. She wants to go see that Human Earthworm movie with the boys, and she wants to rant all about how stupid it was to Maki when she gets back to the dorms; she wants to go online shopping with Gojo and pick out new flower seeds for Inumaki’s garden and have Panda try out some new vegetarian recipes she’s been wanting to try.
She wants to do everything she loves and try everything she thinks she might love. She wants to live, and she wants everyone to live with her.
Want, want, want. Hope and want. God, she sounds like a whiny kid.
You are a kid. You are just a kid, Nobara. You’re just a kid, and you deserve–
No, she doesn’t want to think about “deserving.” She can hope and she can want, but she refuses to deserve.
The cigarette brand is in English, so Nobara can’t read it. But she doesn’t need to, not really. She’s never done it herself, but she knows how to smoke a cigarette. Pretentious bitches in public school bathrooms. Old guys and annoyed wives outside of designer outlet stores. Doctor Shoko, stressed and tired and starving for something she refuses to talk about. Nobara knows what cigarettes are, and she knows what they’re for.
She opens the box.
One, two, three, four… There are nine left inside. Shoko won’t notice if one’s missing, right?
Nobara plucks a cigarette from the box and holds it between her fingers like they do in the movies. (And in the bathrooms, and outside the stores, and in the mortuary where all the dead friends and family are.) She reaches for the lighter on the side table by her cot, ignoring the way her hands are shaking. It’s fine. It’s fine because the cigarette smoke should get rid of it, right? Calm her nerves or whatever.
It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a cigarette. Just one. She’s done way worse than this before, out on the field killing curses and such. A cigarette is nothing. It’s nothing.
The door opens, and Nobara nearly jumps out of her skin. Shoko stands deathly still with her hand on the doorknob. The doctor’s deep, dark brown eyes scan the scene, and a tidal wave of deja vu crashes over her.
Nobara moves her mouth, but she’s caught in a drought. No words, no excuses. She fumbles to put the light back and return the cigarette, but she only has one eye to work with now and she can’t find the damn box. And shit, her vision is getting blurry, and now her cheek is wet with tears but only one because the other is– it’s—
When Shoko finally makes her way across her small medical office, the teenager is sobbing. She cradles herself in her arms, rocking gently, with fat tears and loud hiccups. Her left eye, her only eye, is squeezed shut, but it doesn’t block out any of the monsters under her bed and in her closet. She doesn’t talk, but even if she wanted to, she couldn’t. There’s not enough air, not enough focus. She can’t breathe, she can’t do anything, she can’t—
And Shoko knows. Shoko knows.
The words are whispered from the adult to the child, soft and comforting and warm. Shoko sits and peels the lighter and crumpled cigarette out of the girl’s hands; she opens her arms, and she fights to keep her unbothered face as strong as it’s ever been. She fights, but she can’t, because she’s tired and she looks at this girl and all she sees… all she sees…
“Hey.”
“Oh, it’s the criminal.” She flicks the cigarette, unbothered. Ashes fall slowly, slowly to the ground, unbothered. “You need something from me?”
“I guess I’m just testing my luck.” He looks happier than ever.
Toji Fushiguro killed him once. He wasn’t happy then.
Shoko had to fix it.
“Satoru, you can’t keep torturing yourself like this. He’s not–”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, Shoko! You don’t–”
“I’m trying to help you. This isn’t–”
“You have no right to tell me how to cope with him leaving, not when you didn’t even give a shit. You don’t care about anything.” He looks angrier than ever.
Toji Fushiguro killed him once, too. He didn’t look angry then.
Shoko had to—
“I’m sorry,” Nobara chokes out. Her voice is raspy and broken, and her body trembles relentlessly. Shoko holds her close like a mother would to her daughter. The ones she’s seen only in movies.
I guess I’m just testing my luck–
You don’t care about anything–
“It’s okay,” Shoko whispers. “You’re okay. I’m not–” She swallows, feeling sick. She doesn’t know how to do this. “I’m not mad, alright? It’s just a cigarette. I have plenty more. I just need you to breathe, alright? I didn’t go through the trouble of saving your life just for you to die over a cigarette.”
The room feels heavy with unspoken emotions, a palpable tension threading between them like an invisible wire. Nobara's sobs ebb into hiccups, her breaths ragged as she tries to regain control over her trembling limbs. Shoko's touch is as soothing as she can make it, and thank god Nobara seems to find it helpful, grounding herself in the moment at least a little bit.
For a moment they just sit. And breathe. If they move, it’s extremely slow. If they think, it’s even slower. Nobara’s head doesn’t move from the crook of Shoko’s neck, and the doctor herself keeps her arms wrapped protectively around the child even as her rigid posture sinks into something softer.
When the cries have fully dissolved into stuttering breaths, Shoko takes a moment to plan out what she should say.
“I’m here,” the doctor settles on, “and… I know a thing or two about what it feels like. Knowing you’re strong but still feeling helpless and useless. Knowing you care but being unable to show it or do anything about it.”
Shoko takes to threading her fingers through Nobara’s orange auburn hair, noticing the overgrown dark roots. The student is deathly still, but her breathing has evened out into something regular, something calm and safe, so Shoko keeps going.
“It’s… it’s fucking awful, honestly. To just sit around and hope for the best. To be there and witness it all but not… not the way they are. I’ve been there, girl. I’m still there. And it’s difficult. It’s maddening. It makes me feel dumb and small and weak, which is ridiculous because I know I’m invaluable, but the feelings are still there.
“I just need you to know that you’re not alone. The boys, your first years, they care about you and love you so much, even if they’re odd about the way they show it. Even if they’re wrapped up in each other and fighting curses and saving the world. They love you. Satoru and I, and Panda and Inumaki, too. And everyone knows Maki looks at you like you’re the only other person on the planet who speaks her language.”
Nobara laughs, and it’s wet with leftover tears and shaky with leftover anxieties. “Maki is so frickin’ incredible. She’s a badass and she’s hot.”
“Talk about girlboss,” Shoko chimes in. “But seriously, Nobara. You are irreplaceable. You’re strong and smart and you know who you are. Or at least who you wanna be. That’s amazing. You are amazing. And I know I’m awful at showing how much I care, because I’m fucking exhausted and caring out loud drains me like crazy, but I am so, so proud of you.”
“Thanks,” Nobara sniffles, smiling weakly. “And I’m sorry about taking your cigarettes.”
“It’s alright,” Shoko says. “I understand the appeal, but they really don’t work as well as you’d think.”
“Ugh,” Nobara scoffs. “What a scam.”
“Tell me about it,” the doctor laughs. “But hey, I’ve got enough time for a movie night before I gotta rush to the rescue again. I have Dirty Dancing and Heathers on DVD and a stash of junk food in my cozy office-slash-bedroom if you’re feeling up to it.”
The magical sparkle in the student’s eyes shoots a bolt of bliss through Shoko’s veins. She didn’t fix the problem, not really, but she helped. She stopped a traumatized teenage girl from developing a nicotine addiction. She showed that she cares.
“That sounds heavenly,” Nobara declares. “Ooh! Let’s do face masks, too!”
“I like the way you think. My eyebags have been begging for some love for literal years,” Shoko laughs. “C’mon, I think I’ve got some extra in the bathroom. How do you feel about kiwi?”
“Love it.”