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Their first assignment together is kind of a mess. From the start, Satoru thinks it’s a joke that he’s not allowed to go alone. Yaga frames it as babysitting Geto, since he’s new to the city, but Satoru knows when he’s being placated and he doesn’t appreciate it. He’s also pretty sure that Geto, despite his polite words and pleasant smiles, shares Satoru’s annoyance.
The job is a simple one on paper: the seven year old daughter of a small-time but well-connected politician disappeared from her room while she was alone in it, with the door locked from the outside. According to Yaga, the kid might have a talent for witchcraft, which is a complicating factor.
Nothing that Satoru can’t easily handle, though.
He and Geto take the train despite the summer heat. Being among so many people in the middle of the day is an assault on Satoru’s eyes. There are bright colours everywhere, snagging on his senses once he catches them in his line of sight. Luckily, Geto pays him no mind, too busy looking like he might puke as he sways with the train. Satoru isn’t sure if it’s because of his talent, the sweaty commuters all around them, or a lack of familiarity with public transport, but he classifies Geto’s slimy green aura as disgust-adjacent. It’s nice to be the less affected one between them. It’s the correct order of things.
“Ah,” Geto says abruptly. His eyes are closed. “I thought so before, but now I’m sure. Stop being so smug.”
Satoru scoffs. He keeps his eyes open despite the discomfort, always on the lookout for threats. “I offered to help you with your little problem, Suguru, and you refused. Don’t take it out on me now.” He sing-songs the other apprentice’s name, voice full of derision.
Satoru addressed Geto like that upon their first meeting, eager to assert dominance, only to have his own weapon turned against him.
“You didn’t offer, Satoru. You told me you were willing to do me a favour, since I’m so weak.” Geto opens his eyes a sliver just to glare. “I get that you’re covering your inadequacies with the attitude, but it’s not gonna work on me. I can, unfortunately, tell what you’re feeling.”
In the three months of their acquaintance, Satoru has learned that Geto may be a model apprentice in Yaga’s earshot, but the moment he’s clear of authority figures and innocent bystanders, he turns into an asshole. No one has been able to push Satoru’s buttons quite like Geto in all fifteen years of Satoru’s life. It’s probably because the bastard isn’t always entirely fooled by Satoru’s bullshit.
“You wanna talk about attitude, country boy?” Satoru leans in close, allowing his aura to do as it will, hoping to flood Geto’s senses with a nasty combination of flavours. “This level of disrespect is punishable under clan law.”
Surprisingly, Geto doesn’t recoil or retch. He doesn’t even grimace. Instead, he sags a little, basically hanging off the train strap he’s clutching. “Good thing I’m not part of the clans, then.” He frowns. “You can’t police people’s speech, idiot. That way lies a totalitarian regime.”
Satoru rolls his eyes so hard they sting. Geto keeps trying to pull him into these philosophical discussions about ethics and social issues, even though he doesn’t know shit about how the witch community works. He’s so ridiculously naive. Satoru can’t stand it, but he’s also not about to help Geto out by teaching him what’s what.
They exchange a few rude gestures, but otherwise spend the rest of the train ride in silence. It’s too hot to argue.
When they arrive at the client’s house, they find the missing girl sitting on the front steps, tear-streaked and dressed in pyjamas. When she tilts her head, the golden evening light glints off her eyes strangely, like they’re more reflective than they should be. But the most alarming thing is that she has no aura.
“Satoru,” Geto murmurs, staring at the spot where the girl is sitting. “What do you see over there?”
“Our victim. Why? Do you not see her?”
“Sort of. It’s like looking through a curtain of really hot air.” He pulls out the photo he tucked into his nerdy little notebook and hands it to Satoru.
“Yep, that’s her. No aura, though.”
Geto’s eyes snap to his. “Really? I can taste it from here. She’s terrified.”
Satoru stares first at him, then the girl. “Huh. This is some fuckery.”
Geto puts on his second most charming smile and approaches the girl. He crouches right in front of her, but isn’t having much luck with looking her in the eyes. “Hello, Misaki-chan. We heard that you got lost.”
She gasps, uncurling a little to face him. “You can see me?”
“Yup. How about we find out if I can touch you?” Geto extends a hand, palm up.
Misaki hesitates, biting her lip, but eventually touches the very tips of his fingers with hers.
Geto radiates cloudy, blue-grey relief. “That’s good, Misaki-chan.”
She snatches her hand away, pressing it to her chest, expression pained. Interesting. Satoru comes closer for a better look. “Hey, kid. Show me that hand.”
She freezes, gaze jumping between Satoru and Geto.
The latter floods the air around Misaki with eggshell white comfort. “I’m Geto, and this is my friend, Gojo. We’re here to help you. To do that, we need you to listen to us, okay?”
Misaki nods slowly. She unfurls her hand.
Satoru sucks in a sharp breath. “Her fingertips are bruised.” It’s an annoying fucking development. They need to keep the girl docile, because physically picking her up is no longer an option.
“No more touching, then,” Geto says softly. “I’m sorry, Misaki-chan. You were very brave.”
Satoru wants to gag. “I’ll go in and see what’s up. Keep an eye on her, Suguru.”
Geto’s aura bristles. He’s clearly unhappy at being ordered around, but keeps chatting with the girl like nothing is the matter.
Satoru grins to himself as he rings the doorbell. He’s promptly ushered inside by seemingly distraught parents, who fail to see their daughter just a few steps down from where they stand, even when she wails for their attention and only Geto's bulk blocking the stairs stops her from launching herself through the doorway.
“I’m not sure how two high schoolers are supposed to help,” says the father. His hair sticks up in all directions, like he’s been running his hands through it. “You’re meant to, uh, read the atmosphere or something?”
The mother nudges him with her elbow. “I explained this to you, dear. They’re witches, and they come highly recommended.”
“You’re the ones who called us here,” Satoru tells them. He smirks. “I’m confident that we can get your daughter back to you in no time, but you’ve got to answer some questions.”
The parents are unhelpful. As it turns out, Misaki spent most of the previous day with a nanny. She was meant to eat dinner with her parents, but misbehaved and was sent to her room with a tray of food. After that, she made the usual noises as she got ready for bed. Her parents aren’t sure if they saw Misaki after sending her up to eat alone, but the father heard her call out a goodnight when he, for some reason, locked his daughter in her bedroom for the night. In the morning, Misaki was gone.
The police have been all over the house, and presumably Misaki’s room, leaving a jumble of residuals that would be incomprehensible to most, but not to Satoru. He’s about to check the scene of the ‘disappearance’ when Geto invites himself inside, Misaki cowering in his shadow.
“Hello,” Geto says to the parents. “I’m Geto Suguru, Gojo’s partner for this case. I’ve finished examining the exterior of your house. Nothing there indicates an outsider’s involvement.”
It’s good that he introduces himself, because Satoru forgot to explain his presence. The parents take it in stride, though they are slightly distraught at the idea that their daughter’s disappearance wasn’t caused by any external force.
“Does that mean Misaki was taken by someone we know?” asks the mother.
The father wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders. “The only person with access to our daughter would be her nanny.”
“We’ll see the room now,” Satoru cuts in. Better that they don’t get too excited about a potential culprit.
Misaki’s bedroom is kind of sad. It’s all in beige and white, minimalist and definitely not furnished according to the taste of a seven year old. Even Satoru’s childhood room at the clan compound was more lively than this. The residuals are all messed up, but Geto steps in and begins vacuuming up some of the foreign splotches.
It’s weird to watch, like he picks an invisible thread and the whole chunk of magic unravels, only to slither up his wrist and under the skin of his forearm, where it arranges itself into glowing, tattoo-like patterns. Freaky. Geto probably has no idea, since he can’t see it.
“Careful,” Satoru tells him.
The parents are in the doorway, so Geto smiles pleasantly and doesn’t pause in his work. “I always am.”
He’s not wrong. Satoru wouldn’t have been able to clear the room of all that mess with so much precision. Not yet, anyway. He’s read the Gojo clan’s secret scrolls and knows he can expect to develop fine control over his abilities, and soon. It’s still weird to think that Geto is better than him at something.
Irrelevant. The weakling doesn’t even have a familiar.
Satoru takes a proper look around now that there’s no interference. Mostly it’s normal kid’s bedroom shit: dusty grey boredom and sticky orange frustration at the desk, bruise purple fatigue and wisps of inky fear around the bed, pink-petaled excitement by a large box that presumably contains some toys. There are two points of interest: the door, splashed with mud brown despair or resentment, and the window, glowing with sunflower yellow hope, or maybe wistfulness. It’s difficult to tell when the source is a kid. Satoru hasn’t spent much time around children.
Notably, the window is exactly opposite the door, and on the eastern wall. Whatever accidental magic occurred here, it likely did so in the early morning, with light hitting the door through the window.
“We will spend a little time looking around, preferably without interference,” Geto tells the parents while subtly forcing them to back out of the doorway. His fingers twitch against his leg and Misaki slips into the room moments before the door closes.
Satoru watches the girl, waiting for the ambient magic to react to her presence. Geto, on the other hand, directs her to sit on the bed and wraps a blanket around her shoulders. Then he turns to Satoru with an expectant look.
“Window, window seat, and door,” Satoru lists. “I’m thinking self-inflicted curse.”
“Yeah. But we need to unravel it gently in case the bruising effect is triggered by other things.”
They test that theory by rapping lightly on the door (no effect), pressing a fingertip against a windowpane (Misaki cries out and grabs her arm), and patting the window seat (no effect). They also touch the glass with the tip of a pencil (no effect).
“Okay, that makes sense,” Satoru decides. “It’s transparency.”
Geto hums in agreement. “The desire not to be touched? To be left alone, maybe?” He snaps his fingers. “If it happened right after Misaki-chan was sent to her room, maybe it’s moonlight, not sunlight?”
Satoru makes a face. “That’s bad. Reflected light, plus all the mythology, the symbolism, the Moon landing conspiracy theory… And we won’t be able to recreate the conditions for a full cycle.”
“We need to try tonight. Highest chance of success.”
Satoru nods. Either they fix this in the next few hours, or they’ll have to lock up a young witch alone in a room for twenty nine days.
Geto gently interrogates Misaki about what exactly she did the previous evening and night. She’s seven, so she tells the story somewhat out of order. Geto takes notes, and they manage to establish a tentative timeline based on what the parents have already told them.
Dinner began at 7pm sharp. Misaki came down a little late, then refused to eat some of the food. A tray was brought to her room at around 7:15. Misaki’s mother locked the door, but returned later, at around 7:40, to open it. The tray, mostly full, found its way to the kitchen by 8. Misaki was heard moving around in the bathroom at around 8:10. Her father heard her in her room at around 8:30 and locked the door for the night.
“They haven't seen her since they sent her up,” Geto muses. “I think our window is between 7:15 and 7:40. Do you think the mother unlocking the door was a trigger?”
Satoru is a little impressed despite himself. Or maybe more like surprised not to be disappointed. “Probably. Retracing Misaki’s steps backwards is the gentlest way we can do this.”
That’s going to be a little dicey. According to Misaki, she ate a little bit of food first, then knocked on the door, and when that had no effect, retreated to the window seat and looked outside. She saw the moon, and people walking on the street. She is unfortunately unable to articulate what she was thinking at the time.
“I was sad,” she says. “I didn’t want to see my parents.”
Geto makes a cooing noise. “Are your parents mean to you, Misaki-chan?”
The girl shrugs, eyes downcast. Satoru doesn’t like where this is going, and by the look of Geto’s aura, neither does he.
They decide that Satoru will stay in the room with her and coach her through the curse reversal, while Geto will be outside to lock and unlock the door. It’s not ideal, because Satoru hasn’t done anything to make Misaki less scared of him, but his innate talent may be the key to their success.
Satoru is devastated to discover that working with Geto isn’t so bad. He’s not as ignorant of the rules of magic as Satoru initially assumed, and he's good at wrangling non-witches. He gets the parents to give them space, then prepares Misaki for their impromptu ritual.
“We’re going to play a game,” he tells her, voice gentle. “When I go outside, I’ll lock the door. Gojo will stay here with you. Your job is to do exactly what you did last night: knock on the door, then sit by the window and look outside. After a little while, I’ll unlock the door, okay?”
Misaki nods, though she seems confused and not at all excited to play a game. In a way, that’s better. She surely wasn’t in a cheerful mood last night, either.
Geto absorbs some of Misaki’s mother’s aura in the hopes that using it on the door will bring them closer to a more accurate reenactment of events. Then he meets Satoru’s eyes briefly, and leaves the room. The lock clicks shut.
Satoru grins at Misaki, trying to mimic Geto now that he’s not in the room to witness it. “Go on, like Geto explained.”
Misaki’s breath hitches and her shoulders curl up around her ears, but she walks to the door and raps her knuckles against it, very gently. She does it again, still almost soundlessly, like she doesn’t actually want anyone to hear. She waits there, tense and so small, framed by a rectangle of moonlight.
Worry tickles at the back of Satoru’s mind. They’ve missed something. He’s almost sure of it.
Misaki deflates and retreats to the window seat. She presses her face to the glass--Satoru holds his breath, but it doesn’t seem to hurt her--observing the world outside. The yellow magic hanging in the air wraps around her like a fluffy blanket, and she relaxes further. She starts tracing shapes on the window pane, smiling vacantly.
Nothing’s happening. The magic remains as stagnant as it was before. It should be reacting by now.
The floorboards in the hallway outside creak. Satoru hears voices. Geto, reassuring, and presumably one of the parents. Misaki’s head snaps around to look at the door. Her eyes are wide, her expression stricken, but not with hope or joy.
It’s fear. Of course it is, and of course it got absorbed into the accidental curse. Geto even said that Misaki was scared when they first saw her. They’ve got it all wrong. Their window is closing, and the curse reversal is missing a key element. It won’t work.
As if on cue, Geto attempts to turn the lock and fails. He rattles the door in his struggle. Misaki turns her watery gaze to Satoru, and she’s scared now, but it’s too little, too late.
Satoru acts on instinct. He advances on Misaki, looming over her, and she scrambles far enough away that she’s mostly clear of the falling shards of glass when Satoru smashes the window pane with an elbow wrapped in his uniform jacket. He’s grateful for the thick wool. It snags on the jagged glass, but Satoru feels no pain, so he probably hasn’t cut himself.
There’s a flare of magic at the door as Geto forces the lock to open. He steps inside. The parents are close at his heels, and Geto stops in the doorway, blocking their way.
“Misaki!” the mother exclaims, looking at her daughter. “You’re bleeding.”
She is, but not badly. There’s a shallow cut on her cheek, and a nick in her ear. Misaki’s lip wobbles. She’s surrounded by greenish yellow fear, like old bruises.
“It’s okay,” Satoru tells her, not looking at the parents. “Will you let me touch you?”
Misaki hesitates, but eventually she nods and extends a hand. Satoru smiles when he taps the tips of their index fingers together. Nothing happens. Satoru sighs, relieved, though he’s not sure that this outcome is all that great for Misaki.
The mother slips under Geto’s arm and goes to hug her daughter. She falters when she’s centimetres away. “What is this? Why can’t I…?”
“Oops,” Satoru says under his breath.
The father can’t quite touch Misaki, either. It looks kind of funny, like their approach loses momentum when they get near, and they sort of flop uselessly in Misaki’s personal space.
“It seems like our work here is done,” Geto announces, smiling in that infuriatingly polite way.
“What?” The father turns on him, wild eyed. “I can’t put a single finger on my own child!”
Satoru wants to say that it’s a good thing, but Geto shoots him a quelling look.
“We were hired to return your daughter to you, and here she is, returned. Perhaps a little hungry, though?”
Somehow, Geto wrangles the parents into summoning Misaki’s nanny to feed and bathe her. Unsurprisingly, the kindly older woman has no trouble hugging Misaki tight, then leading her away by the hand. Geto takes it upon himself to talk down the parents while Satoru calls Yaga and explains the situation. He steps out into the street to do so.
“I think they abused her, sensei,” he says bluntly. “Everyone else can touch her, and maybe her parents will be able to, as well, if she stops being so scared.”
Yaga makes an unimpressed sound.
Satoru bites his lip. “I know it’s unorthodox, but can’t we just leave her like this? She’ll be better off. Suguru can tell the parents there’s nothing to be done and they’ll believe him.”
“Until they hire another witch.” Yaga sighs. “I’ll contact child protective services. This isn’t a problem for us to solve, Satoru. We handle the magic. The people have to handle themselves.”
“But Misaki’s a witch. She could be your apprentice one day.”
“We can’t make that decision for her and her parents, Satoru, we don’t have the right. It’s out of our hands. If you and Suguru don’t want to do what needs to be done, I’ll ask someone else.”
It’s kind of ironic that Yaga has to say these things to Satoru, who knows how the clans operate, has lived according to their rules all his life. Just last week, it was Geto protesting against the status quo. Geto’s the one who’s had to sit through hours of Yaga’s lectures on why things are the way they are, and there’s nothing to be done about it.
It’s not Yaga’s fault, either. If he took on every charity case Geto brought in front of him, he’d be broke, ostracised by the clans, maybe even dead. He’d be useless to witches like Geto, whom he gets to prepare for the harsh world of witchcraft, and witches like Satoru, whom he can allow a little bit of freedom.
The oxygen mask rule applies to witches, too: help yourself first, then the person sitting next to you. Otherwise, you’re both dead.
Satoru grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches. “We’ll finish the job. Not today, though. It’s late. Contact child protective services first.”
Yaga’s silent for a long moment. “Fine.” He hangs up.
“I take it your talk didn’t go any better than mine,” Geto says, from right behind Satoru, making him jump.
He really shouldn’t have let anyone sneak up on him like that. Even with his eyes turned elsewhere, he can still sense auras like any other witch. Satoru takes a moment to school his expression before turning around. “Nah. We’ll come back tomorrow.”
“I heard.” The corner of Geto’s mouth quirks up, though his expression is otherwise serious, and his aura is all dirt brown disappointment, with little licks of fury the colour of arterial blood. “I’m glad you think so highly of my persuasion skills, but I don’t think I could convince these people of anything. All they want is to find someone to blame and shout at until their voices give out.”
“We could steal the kid,” Satoru suggests, only mostly joking.
“We couldn’t without turning the clans against us, and ruining Misaki’s life in the process. Besides, you’re fifteen. What would you even do with a kid?”
“Fuck if I know, but I’m sure we’d think of something.” It takes Satoru a moment to realise that he included Geto in the imaginary scenario. He promptly sends all his mortification to Six, hoping Geto caught none of it.
“Spoken like a true child of privilege.” Despite his words, Geto’s voice is soft. “You’re not so bad after all, Satoru. You worked hard today.”
Something hot and squirmy fills Satoru’s insides. He realises with horror that he’s starting to blush, so he sends that to Six as well. Judging by Geto’s smirk, he didn’t miss Satoru’s lapse of control.
“Fuck off,” Satoru tells him, meaning it a little less than he usually would.
The next day at noon, they come back to undo Misaki’s protective curse, having spent most of the night and morning researching and figuring out how to do so. The ritual goes off without a hitch. The parents are overjoyed. Misaki looks Satoru in the eyes as her aura burns green with betrayal.
Six years later, Misaki fails to resist the call of oblivion, and takes matters into her own hands. Satoru visits the bridge only a few hours later. As he gazes down at the moonlit water, his reflection ripples, shifts, and shows him Suguru. It’s not a figment of Satoru’s imagination, he knows. Death is a strong catalyst for magic.
Suguru’s reflection seems outwardly calm, but Satoru can see the fury underneath. The disappointment. Not helplessness, though, not any more, and that worries him more than anything. The reflection has no aura. Satoru marvels at his ability to read Suguru so easily, just by seeing his far-away, flickering expression.
Satoru wants to ask Suguru if he regrets the choice they made that day. If he ever wonders what their lives would be like, had they whisked Misaki away to safety. Maybe they’d have learned their lesson, and wouldn’t have tried to do better with Riko. Maybe, armed with experience, they wouldn’t have failed Riko.
It’s so easy to look back and think: of course there was a better way. Probably, what happened was inevitable, because Suguru is too kind and righteous for his own good, while Satoru is never enough. Not kind or righteous, not strong, and not decisive.
Wind tugs at the clouds until they obscure the moon. The reflection in the water melts away into darkness. Satoru lets himself be grateful for this opportunity to see Suguru, however indirectly, then shakes himself free of unnecessary feelings and pushes off from the railing. He doesn’t have time to be sentimental. The world never pauses for loss.