Work Text:
Shoko worked at a diner. Long hours. Greasy food. Swatted away at the hands that groped at her like they were flies.
The neon sign outside flickered. Grease stains scattered across the black and white tiles. Old vinyl records plastered on the walls, both sofas and chairs all the same shade of crimson. The soft buzz of the fluorescent light bathed the diner in a static, yellow glow. The jukebox hummed out a mellow, jazzy tune, filling out the space of the silence. Truckers, night-shift workers, and dreamers sipped from bottomless mugs.
Her trainers screeched against the newly polished floor. White faded to a dull grey. She kept her hair scraped back into a greasy bun, sleeves rolled up.
She balanced trays on her arms. Her hips. Learned when to smile to earn a tip. Maybe if she actually paid attention at school, she’d be in a better place. Maybe she could be a real doctor. Handing out lollipops to kids who’d behave themselves, and condoms to guys who hadn’t.
She bought home food for Yuuta, her son. Apple pies sprinkled with cinnamon. Burgers with slabs of orange cheese slapped onto greasy patties.
He was a good kid. Struggled with his maths but was great at English. Offered to help around the house- wash the dishes, hoover, hang the laundry. He often ripped over his feet or his own words. Only had one friend. A boy with pink hair, brown roots fading in and a bright smile.
Before working at a diner, Ieiri went bar hopping. Mei Mei taught her everything she knew.
“Teach me what you know,” she declared, leaning against the doorway.
“Oh?” Mei Mei tilted her head, smiling, “I’m skilled in many fields. You’ll have to be more…specific.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Hate to disappoint, but you don't have the assets for it,” Mei Mei shrugged, “Utahime-chan is better suited.”
“Yeesh. Real encouraging.”
Mei Mei held up a hand. “But I never said no. It is possible to compensate with your lacking figure. But if you want my services, I charge a quarter of your monthly salary.”
With a roll of her eyes, she agreed.
“Yeah yeah. Okay.”
Mei Mei took her shopping. Introduced her to stores with soft light poured from crystal fixtures recessed into the ceiling, catching on glass shelves lined with handbags, jewels on the buckles. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and clean cashmere. The floors gleamed—marble, streaked with pale gold veining.
The girl plucked dresses from hangers, manicured nails grazing the fabric. Pressed them against her chest, making Shoko display the dresses. A low back revealed more than she’d usually allow, and the clean neckline framed the lazy tilt of her posture with an effortless sort of grace. The next one was a deep forest green, sleeveless with a slit that climbed high along her leg.
Mei Mei preferred her in silver. She didn’t call after Shoko defected even though she had her number saved.
Shoko wore a tight green dress, swiped lip gloss over her lips. Cherry red. She sold her body like the only currency she had. Targeted the rich just as Mei Mei taught her. Targeted older men when she was just barely legal. She flashed them the same smile, more teeth than warm. Then she ended up in their beds.
At the time, she was a roommate for a woman who had hair falling into dark curls who just wanted the company.
She stole money from the men she hooked up with. Used them to treat herself to expensive cigarettes; menthol flavour. They moved cities when her name made the headlines, meaning Yuuta was constantly packing things into boxes. Constantly squeezing into their dingy car for another road trip. Constantly leaving things and people behind. He learned to put his heart and his life in a bag.
With the money she’d saved up, they finally settled down.
The communal area of their current place was illuminated by the buzzing, flickering lights overhead. Paint was peeling off of the walls as he passed. Long, metallic bottles of drugs were scattered across the stairs. They had moved all across the country. Suburbs. Cities.
At the center of the staircase were a group of people huddled together, faces long and gaunt, clothes worn and tattered. The woman had a cigarette, poised between her fingers, a cloud of smoke drifting lazily towards the ceiling. The man, meanwhile, was muttering to himself, the occasional bark of laughter leaving his lips. The other woman, crammed against the side of the wall, was asleep.
When they first moved in, Shoko moved the washing machine from the laundry room. Put a bed in, a desk, and a chair. Made it into her room, giving up the bigger room for Yuuta. Her walls were bare- no posters, no shelves.
It wasn’t much. But with the two of them, it felt like home.
She kept her clothes dumped in a pile on her chair or dumped on the floor. She told herself she’ll clean it tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. Ieiri never nagged Yuuta to clean his room. Didn’t mind what time he was in bed at as long as it was by twelve.
***
Gojo was on missions. Geto was alone- and finally, Shoko was noticed.
Their friendship shifted. Gojo drifting apart while Suguru and Shoko stuck together. She practically moved into his dorm- her jacket on his chair, his toothbrush beside hers.
She was lying on her stomach, kicking her legs as she doodled in the margins of her textbook. Suguru was lying on the floor, his back against the bed. Shoko scooted to the edge of the bed, legs dangling as she sat, twirling a strand of his hair between her finger.
“You’re pretty with your hair down. Shame I don’t get to see you like this much.”
“And that’s all you care about now,” he scoffed, hands folded in his lap. The girl snickered. Didn’t deny it.
“You know me too well.”
But still, she clipped his nails, washed his hair while he sat on the curb of the bathtub.
“You’re gross,” she scoffed, flicking his forehead, “Take better care of yourself.”
He sliced apples for her with his open palm and a butter knife, slitting his fingers occasionally. He’d feed them to her while she studied, her teeth grazing his fingers.
Most nights, he’d smoke half her pack before bed. And she’d bury her face into the crook of his shoulder to prove he’s real. They’d sleep together, legs and limbs tangled.
And one night, they did it. It was an accident, but Yuuta wasn’t a mistake.
Shoko heard the news of Geto’s genocide from Yaga. Deleted his number from her phone. There was no reasoning with him.
“So, this is it, huh,” Gojo began, rocking on his heels. His gaze was fixed on the skyline stretched out before them. He couldn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t accept this was real.
Ieiri already packed her things. It wasn’t much; she never declared herself as the sentimental type.
“Yeah. Had it up to here with this jujutsu crap,” she yawned, leaning over the railing.
“Man, I’m surprised. Out of everyone, I thought you’d be able to take it.”
“You thought wrong. Sorry to disappoint, I guess,” she gave him a one-shouldered shrug,“And besides- this isn’t the kinda world I’d want a kid to grow up in.”
“Your kid,” Gojo added.
“Yeah,” Shoko sighed, “Still getting used to that.”
Neither of them cried. It wasn’t in their nature. She was rooted to the spot, hovering awkwardly. It was easier to not say goodbye so they could pretend it wasn’t real.
Eventually, she saluted him.
“See you ‘round.”
He raised a hand. Not a wave, an acknowledgement.
“See ya.”
***
She hadn’t had a client in a while. Money was tight. Then, she spotted him. Dark hair. Dull eyes. Hair slicked back. A pin on his blazer, glinting in the dim light.
“Hello.”
He didn’t snap his fingers to get her attention or tug at her clothes.
With a sigh, she patted down her pockets for her notepad and grabbed the pen slotted behind her ear. “What can I get for you?” She tilted her head expectantly. Added a smile to seem more friendly, more inviting.
Served him the food he ordered, fingers brushing along his arm.
“So,” the woman began, sliding into the booth. It was just the two of them now, “What’s your deal?”
“My deal?” He echoed, raising the mug to his lips. Chipped around the rim.
“Yeah. Rich lawyers like you don’t come around here for nothing.” She crossed one leg over the other, chin propped up in her palm.
“Well, ‘my deal,’ as you put is: I’m stuck in life and I don’t know what to do. I thought I had it all worked out. Do my part as a lawyer. Right all the wrongs I could.”
“A real life hero,” the woman raised a hand to her chest, “Wow. I’m honoured.”
“Calling myself a hero is generous."
"Looks like you're real modest."
“You don’t know me.”
“Yet,” Shoko added. She slid him her business card along with his check. Ieiri sold her body like the only currency she had.
Wordlessly, she stood to her feet and walked away. He was exactly her type- dark hair, sad eyes. Her first love had been Suguru, after all. Both Higuruma and Suguru were victims of corrupt societies.
***
“I’m home,” Shoko exclaimed, voice sailing through the apartment, keys jangling.
“Oh, hi,” he gave her a brief wave, eyes darting back to his open textbooks.
Kicking off her shoes and untying her hair, she approached him.
“Doing your homework, huh. Can’t say I’m surprised. Take a break. Come on.”
She plopped down besides him on the sofa, prying his books out of his hands, watching him splutter.
Shoko faced him, grinning. “Let’s watch some cliche christmas movie. Whaddya say?”
The movie began, bathing their faces in eerie, pale glows.
The woman sighed, and rubbed her temple. “Same old cliche. A woman who’s divorced and sceptical meets a complete green flag. Then they kiss after like, what. Three days?”
“You, uhm…” Yuuta trailed off, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth, “You recommended it though. We don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to…”
“Eh, it’s fine. I kinda like these cliche things, in a weird way. It’s comforting.”
The couple on the TV kissed in front of CGI’d snowstorm, music swelling. Fake snow drifted through a soundstage. Yuuta groaned. “I can’t tell if that snow looks worse than last year’s.”
“I’d say it looks better. They’re getting good at making it look real.”
The credits rolled. Yuuta’s head was on her shoulder. She didn’t pull him closer. She didn’t push him away. She shook her head, grinning.
The buzzer rang. Once. Twice. Slicing through the silence of her apartment. With a groan, she approached the door.
“What no-” She cleared her throat upon seeing the figure looming in the doorway. “Oh. Uhm. Hi.”
“Bad timing?” he tilted his head. Didn’t peer inside.
“Just one second…” she grimaced, slamming the door shut. She brushed and tied her hair back. Patted down her clothes. Swiped drugstore lipgloss over her lips, kissing the excess off on the back of her hand.
Opening the door, she flashed him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“It’s all good now. Come in.” Opening the door, she beckoned him inside.
After removing his shoes, he glanced around.
“Where do I put them?”
With a jerk of her chin, she gestured to under the radiator.
Silence stretched over them.
“Do- do we kiss, or…?”
Ieiri shrugged. “If you wanna.” She would’ve added: “But I’m charging for that, too,” but she doesn’t joke while she works.
He closed the distance. Didn’t touch her. His mouth met hers like a formality- practical. Her arms were limp by her side. Brief. No spark, no pulse. Just motion mistaken for intimacy.
***
“That wasn’t how I anticipated it would be.” He spoke first. He always did. Shoko relished in the silence. Their clothes were scattered on the floor, on the bed.
“So you’re saying it’s my fault,” she scoffed, sitting under the blanket. He kept to his side, and she kept to hers.
“What?” He groaned, shifting into a sitting position, rubbing his temple, “No...no. I’m sharing my experience, not blaming you.”
“Oh. Okay,” she relented, “‘Cuz I’ve been blamed plenty of times before.”
“...I never did get your name,” he mused, wrinkling his nose.
She yawned, hand hovering over her mouth. “Ieiri Shoko. Just call me Shoko. Or Sho. I don’t care much for formalities.”
“Alright then, Shoko.”
Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a wad of cash and handed it over. Shoko gladly accepted, pulling her fingers away first so they couldn’t touch.
“I’ll be off now,” he scooted off the edge of the bed. Shoko was glad to have her space back. “Oh, and word of advice? Don’t bother fixing up next time.” He slipped on his shoes, shrugging on his suit.
“There’ll be a next time?” The woman scoffed, eyeing him sceptically, “Most guys don’t stick around after the first.”
“‘Most guys,’ refers to your ex.”
And with that, he was gone, slipping through the door.
For a moment, she remained there, the bed suddenly empty without him.
Deciding to check on Yuuta, she slipped out of the room. Tossed a blanket over him and drew the curtains. After that, she pressed the kettle, letting the water boil.
***
Months passed, Yuuta’s exams coming up. Kept post-it notes stuck to her fridge to remind her. Higuruma would stop to stare every time he came over. Yuuta ducked his head, avoiding Higuruma in the corridors whenever he saw him.
“You have a lot coming up,” he muttered, picking a fallen one and sticking it back up.
That earned an eye roll from Shoko.
“You’re just being nosy.”
She slid past him to the fridge, opening it. Eating pickles straight from the jar, sipping flat coke.
“What?” She deadpanned, swiping her mouth on the back of her hand, “This is my place. You can’t say anything.”
“What? I-I’m not saying anything. I’m not even looking.” He raised a hand to shield his face.
The woman huffed through her nose in amusement.
“Weirdo.”
“You working tomorrow?” he asked.
“Always,” she said, casting him a glance over her shoulder, mid-bite. You?”
“Not currently, no. I’ve quit being a lawyer,” He poured himself a drink from the bottle she never moved from the counter, then took a seat at the kitchen table.
They didn’t talk much after that. They never really did. The silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore. It was just familiar, like the soft hum of the fridge.
Sometimes he’d fall asleep on the sofa, head tilted back against it, his tie undone. Shoko sat awake beside him. She’d glance over, studying the tired lines around his eyes, the way his hand relaxed only when he stopped thinking.
It wasn’t love. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. It was routine.
With the money she saved up, she bought a guitar for Yuuta’s birthday.
The moment he saw the glint of strings through the case, his breath caught. For a few seconds, all he could do was stare. It was beautiful—warm brown wood. A faint ripple under the light, the kind of instrument he’d only admired behind glass at the shop near the station.
“Is this…” His voice cracked before he could finish.
She flashed him a grin. A genuine one.
“Yeah. Figured you deserve it for your eleventh birthday. Something special.”
He ran a thumb over the fretboard, tracing the curve of the neck. It felt too real, too much.
“Thank you.”
Ieiri shrugged. “You don’t gotta thank me.”
***
Higuruma sat in her bedroom. Their bedroom now, because they’re in this bed together more often than not. His clothes. Her clothes. Their clothes.
“There a reason you’re sticking around for this long? And I know it’s not just ‘cuz I’m pretty.”
“I’m just…stuck with my life. I’m not a lawyer anymore. I had everything worked out. And now…I don’t.”
The woman huffed through her nose. “Well, y’know what? I’d say it’s good to just start over. Try new things even though change is scary. It might take long to find yourself. To be at a point where you’re like: ‘okay, this is good. I’m happy with where I am.’ But I’d say it’s worth it as long as you’re happy.”
She snorted, and shook her head. “You should take that with a grain of salt, though. I’ve never been great at giving advice.”
He blinked. Once. Twice.
“That’s actually…really good advice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.” A pause, and then: “Sorry. I’m not great with super emotional stuff.”
“Neither am I.”
Shoko slipped under her blanket, pulling him down with her, hooking a leg over him.
***
Yuuta had been seeing Hiromi around the house a lot. He was quiet. Polite. Helped him with his maths work while Shoko made coffee.
“So, uh…are you and him, y’know,” Yuuta cleared his throat, “Together?”
Ieiri leaned back on the sofa. “Dunno. Depends. Like, do you want us to be?”
“Well. I wouldn’t mind. He seems nice.”
“Yeah. I just hope he’s not another lunatic.”
That night, Shoko called him over. Popped open a bottle of her favourite whiskey to ease her nerves- roses and gasoline.
“Sooo,” she began, swirling the bottle. Fingers curled around the neck. “You wanna go out with me?”
“Do- do I what?” He stuttered.
“Did I stutter?” The woman snorted, leaning in: “I said- go out with me. Uh, if you wanna, I guess. We should be a thing.” Her gaze flickered anywhere but his face. Yuuta hovered by the door; listening.
“Are you saying…you like me?”
“Yeah. Liked you ever since I saw you in that dingy diner. I like your stupid suit. Your nose. Your voice. Also, you kinda remind me of a guy I knew,” she giggled to herself, words slurred.
Then he laughed, rubbing a hand over his face.
“That’s a relief. I’ve felt the same for the longest time.”
Higuruma moved in with them properly, slotting his toothbrush beside hers. His clothes folded on her desk or shoved in her wardrobe. Yuuta didn’t avoid him in the hallways anymore, the three of them a real family now.