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Maki hadn’t wanted to make a grand spectacle out of her wedding, but the Gojo clan had formally adopted Yuuta in as soon as possible following Sukuna’s defeat, and, well, the clan head’s wedding can’t be an understated affair. Especially not when they refuse to let the clan head date his girlfriend in peace for any longer than a few years, not without “legitimatizing it,” and so, Maki had relented.
Nobara hates it and is glad for it, a little bit. Maki is beautiful all dressed-up, head tilted to allow unobstructed access to her hair, even if she looks like she’s itching to get out of it already. She holds herself still, though, letting the servants apply makeup to her face.
“No covering up the scars,” she reminds the servant girls for the nth time. Nobara’s weirded out by how quiet and compliant they are, but Maki shrugs and says, what else did you expect of one of the great clans? Not exactly known for treating their servants with kindness. Nobara wonders if she grabbed these girls and ran—not today, she’s not ruining Maki’s wedding—she’d be able to get away with it. Probably not.
“Maki-san,” she says suddenly, straightening up in her seat by the window, “do you regret never meeting your soulmate?”
Maki’s hand automatically goes to her bicep, where the burns that cursed spirit gave her all those years ago in Shibuya had burned the mark away. For some time time, she’d thought it might grow back, but—no. Nothing.
“…no,” she settles on, after a moment. As if in response, the mark on Nobara’s hip tingles. I’m right here, she’s refrained from saying since the night before Shibuya, when she had seen the soul-mark on Maki’s bicep, exposed by her shirt’s sleeve riding up. She hadn’t known what to say, and then Shibuya happened, and when she woke up, Maki was burned-up and hollowed-out with half of her missing and the blood of her clan on her hands.
Not really a great moment to say, hey, Maki-san. You’re my soulmate, did you know that?
Then—
“I don’t know, actually,” Maki admits. “I mean, sure, knowing I know them, whoever they are, would be nice. But I don’t know if that’s something I should be forcing.” She drops her hand away from her arm. “It’s fine, really. The whole business with souls and the like… well, I’m not particularly interested into buying into that. If a soulmate can make my life better, then they’re welcome to it. But me—” she raises her head and peers into the mirror in front of her. “I’m fine with the way things are.”
—she’s getting married. Nobara hasn’t dreamed of weddings, even as a little girl with idealistic hopes and aspirations, but she imagines being married to Maki would be nice.
She’s wanted to kiss Maki since the third day after they had met.
She imagines it, even sitting in a room tucked away in the Gojo clan’s compound, the only person allowed inside, that after Maki’s stern rebuttal that whoever she wishes will be allowed to witness this day of hers. Nobara had been imagining this to be an emotional support type deal, where she gives a pep talk back to Maki as repayment for everything, or something like that. Not so. Maki is remarkably composed and calm.
She can imagine Yuuta pacing the room wherever he is in nervous circles, though, probably making Panda and Inumaki even more nervous than they are. The image makes her snicker a bit, even as part of her wants to snarl and growl and lash out at him—even as she’s truly, genuinely happy. A contradiction of emotion that has her head spinning.
“And you?” Maki asks.
“Hmm. Nah. No need for me. I’m going to become a rich old cat lady,” Nobara tells her. It’s the honest truth. “It’s time for me to enjoy my life before I die. I already did once.”
“Just barely.”
“Close enough.” She hesitates, then, “it’ll be fine if I have you, Maki-san, and—everyone else,” she tacks on hastily. It’s the truth; if she never grows out of her heartbreak, then the company of her friends will be more than enough. Even if it hurts. Even if Maki never knows. “You’re the crazy one for choosing to get married, if you ask me.”
“I’m all about grand, stupid decisions,” Maki laughs. It’s gentle in a way a sixteen-year-old Maki never would have exposed herself in. “Why not one last one?”
“Why not?” Nobara agrees. Here’s her own grand, stupid decision—tomorrow morning, she will go to a tattoo parlor, and she will add modifications to the soul-mark burning faintly on her hip. She can only hope it’ll be more effective than drinking her sorrows away.