Work Text:
Gojo taps his pencil’s eraser against the paper a couple of times, distantly gazing out the window at the pitchblack night. Of course, he can still see all the greenery and buddhist paraphernalia of the plaza beside his office, even through his sunglasses, but he can do his best to imagine a paned void in its place.
The brass wants a report by midnight on Okkotsu’s reaffirmed Special Grade status, since they’re obviously looking for any reason at all they can point at to detain him. They won’t be receiving anything of the sort, but there’s the matter of picking the funniest thing to document instead…
He swivels his chair around just as there’s a knock at his door.
“Come in,” he says. It’s an odd time for a meeting, but it’s not like sorcerers stick to usual schedules.
They just knock again though, which is strange because he never locks up.
He stands and crosses the room in a couple of long strides. While he could just take his shades off, looking through the wall feels like cheating, and mildly invasive, in a way.
There’s yet another knock just as he turns the knob.
So when he opens the door, Kirara nearly topples right into him, but he catches her by the shoulders and sets her back upright.
“Hey?” He asks when she doesn’t say anything, staring fixedly at some point on his shirt that should not be that interesting. “You okay?”
She blinks and looks up, slightly past him. Her typically star-shaped pupils have expanded to giant black circles, leaving only a tiny ring of purple around them. She’s shiny with sweat too.
“You good?” He squeezes her upper arm. “Kirara?”
“I–” She takes a short, gaspy breath, then throws herself at him.
He has a fraction of a second to turn off his infinity before she’s wrapping her arms around his back and squeezing as tight as she must be able to.
“Okay, it’s okay,” he intones, rubbing up and down her spine as he pulls her over the threshold, shutting the door behind her.
A sharp whine escapes her, wetness beginning to soak into the fabric over his sternum. She sniffles and shudders, trembling.
“What’s wrong?” He gently tugs himself loose in her vice grip to cup her bright red, tear-streaked cheeks and get a better look, which actually isn’t particularly helpful.
She swallows nervously as she drops her hands back to her sides, swaying in place. Snot bubbles over her upper lip, while the lower one quivers through mucousy, off-kilter respiration.
He slides his thumb back and forth over her bicep, brows knitting together.
“I’m…” She clears her throat. “I’m kinda… trpinbllsrghtnow…”
“You’re gonna have to repeat that, kiddo,” he replies. “I can’t hear you–”
“I’m tripping balls right now,” she says with impressive clarity, and a lot louder than she should.
“Oh.” He’s not sure how to respond to that. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No…” She rasps. “I just… forgot took I had it…”
He opens his mouth to speak, then realizes he has to think that one through for a second.
“I’m gonna fall in–” She blurts out, knees giving out.
“Ookay–” He catches her under the arms. “You’re good–”
“Can you stop?” She shouts, suddenly wriggling free to shove past him and stomp over to the window. “How dare you–”
She almost bangs on the glass, but he catches her wrist just in time.
“Hey, now,” he says. “Let’s go over here–”
“I have to–”
“No, I don’t need you cutting up your hand, come on.” He leads her toward the couch.
“I’m trying to protect you…” She argues as he pushes her to sit. “But I guess if you want the spirits to eat you…”
She shrugs and sighs backhandedly.
“There’s no cursed spirits out there,” he tells her.
“How you do know?” She rolls her eyes.
“I don’t see any,” he replies.
“Check,” she demands, eyes dancing around, yet failing to make contact.
“Nah, that’s okay, “ he says, loosely crossing his arms. “I’m more worried about you right now.”
“I’m great.” She puts her hands up innocently. “How are you?”
“You’re high,” he reminds her.
She drops her arms and recoils, putting on a confused, mildly offended face.
“You just told me that yourself?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Oh…” She remembers, relaxing. “I was trying to distract you.”
“Why?” He asks, even though he doubts there’s much of a point in that.
“I…” She looks at the floor. “Can I tell you something…”
“Go for it,” he says.
“I think the desk… I think it out took its drawers and–” She swallows. “It’s woods are exposed…”
He glances over his shoulder at his desk, which has no visible drawers from this side, and the ones it does have on the other are all closed.
“Okay…” He takes a breath and nods. “How about you tell me what you took?”
She shakes her head.
“Is it something Kinji gave you that I’m gonna have to pay the cops off for again?” He guesses.
She shakes her head again, closing her eyes this time.
As she comes to a sudden halt, they remain shut for a few seconds afterwards, lashes twitching as her ocular muscles jitter beneath them.
“You oka–” He starts.
“You need to put them back–” She stands suddenly.
“Woah–” He catches her by the upper arms before she charges right into him. “Calm down–”
“No, the drawers–” She’s starting to hyperventilate. “They’re… They’re coming. He won’t stop spitting them out–”
She whines uncomfortably.
“The desk?” He tries to gently urge her back down, but she keeps pulling at an angle, towards the door.
“No, the drawers–” Tears are rolling down her cheeks again.
“Don’t look at them. Look at me,” he instructs, letting go of one of her arms to redirect her panicked stare to himself instead, but she just takes the opportunity to violently yank away.
He lets go of her, for fear she’ll rip her arm out of its socket if he tries to hold on.
With the sudden lack of resistance, she loses her balance, stumbling away and down in slow motion, until she flops unceremoniously onto the floor.
“Great…” He exhales heavily, then approaches, crouching beside her.
“Hey.” He jostles her by the shoulder, rolling her more onto her side than her stomach. “You in there?”
It takes her a moment, but she blinks and nods, then sniffles.
“What’s going on with the drawers?” He decides to ask when she doesn’t say anything.
“They’re on display…” She murmurs. “They’ll tice me en and I’ll get stuck in the cupboard…”
“Okay, well…” He looks around. “There’s no cupboards in here. Don’t worry.”
“But that’s only the gateway…” She lifts her head, then quickly thrashes it back down, nearly smashing her temple on the hardwood, barely saved by his palm.
“Nope, nope–” He drags her back upright, keeping his hand on the side of her head until she’s sitting against the side of the couch.
“If you hurt yourself, I have to do a whole lot of mandatory reporter paperwork, so that’s your only freebie,” he says, very clearly. “Got it?”
“M’telling you I’m tired…” She complains. “You know… pillows… how I need ones…”
“Just use your words,” he tells her. “Please.”
“Mmph…” She huffs, refusing to look at him as she firmly folds one arm across her chest. “Tired of your shit…”
“Great start.” He claps her on the shoulder for her attention. “Now, can you tell me what you took?”
“I didn’t steal anything…” She slouches, sinking further towards a supine position again. “They were empty when I found them…”
“The drawers?” He tries.
“Yeah…” She tucks her chin to chest, head lolling slightly to the left. “They’re politicians for the closet… Cupboard’s the first step, then cabinets…”
Considering typical government irony, she’s in the ballpark, he supposes.
“No cupboards or cabinets in here,” he repeats. “I won’t let you get Alice-and-Wonderlanded if that’s what you’re scared of–”
“No…” She cries with surprising force. “It’s within you… They’re within me…”
“Noted,” he gives up. “But I’m wondering more about what else is within you right now–”
“It’s not good–” She sobs, hiding her face in her hands, almost listing so far to the side she falls over, once again saved by his reflexes.
“What’s not good?” He holds her in place as she coughs and twitches, her skin becoming increasingly flushed. “You can tell me.”
“The drawers are open–” She insists, like it makes sense. “You opened them–”
“I didn’t open anything,” he says. “I’m just trying to help, because you sound a little bananas right now and it’s freaking me out–”
“You opened the door–” She barks, sitting up and pointing a finger at him with a fiery glare.
He considers for a moment, deciding what’s least likely to fan the flames.
“Fair enough,” he acquiesces. “But you were the one knocking.”
She pants as her glower softens, peace in distance melting her expression, until she wipes her eyes and slumps against the couch as soon as he lets go of her.
“You know where you are?” He asks after a minute.
She shrugs.
“I need you to tell me what you took,” he says quietly. “You’re not drunk and you don’t smell like weed, so there’s a lot of variables here we gotta work out.”
“Don’t be mad at me…” She mumbles. “I don’t like it…”
“If you tell me what it is, I can probably help,” he suggests.
“The drawers…” Of course. “He’s opening them, pulling out them–”
“Okay, okay– I hear you,” he interrupts. “You said the desk is opening the drawers? Right?”
She doesn’t respond.
“What’s so bad about that?” He tries. “They’re its drawers. It’s not hurting you if it wants them open.”
“It doesn’t feel good…” She rasps.
“The desk?” He asks. “I don’t think it has feelings–”
“No–” She whines. “Me inside… S’not good…”
“So, are you telling me you don’t feel good?” He hypothesizes. “What doesn’t feel good?”
“M’not a doctor…” She counters, staring intently at something behind him.
“But apparently you’re a pharmacist,” he says dryly. “This is a really long-winded way to ask for help.”
“You’ve… never done Acid?” She tilts her head.
“Acid?” He thinks. It sounds like something a certain friend of his would’ve been into in high school… Shoko too, if it was something you could drink with.
“I’m like…” She blinks. “So high…”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Hold on–”
LSD.
Thanks, Google.
That’s the one with the paper, and something he was told to stay far, far away from when his psychonaut peers saw how a single hit off a joint had him unresponsive, experiencing the magnitude of the universe as he stared at the wall, which he projectile vomited all over once the sheer intensity of perception hit its peak.
This kid’s got an ocular technique too, and while her eyes are substantially weaker, he doubts they aren’t making an effect.
“Okay.” He takes a breath. “How much did you take?”
“Too damn much…” She groans. “I wanna sleep it off…”
“You can take a nap on my couch,” he offers.
She shakes her head.
“You sure?” He glances down at his phone again, typing as he speaks. “It’s pretty comfortable.”
Overdose on LSD is possible but differs from overdosing on alcohol or opioids. While fatal toxicity from LSD alone is extremely rare, very high doses can cause severe physical and psychological complications. LSD overdoses may result in panic attacks, psychosis, or extreme agitation, which can put the individual or others at risk.
Okay, mixed bag. Good to know though. Thanks again, Google.
“Can’t…” She says. “I’m… dizzy, really…”
“I bet.” He places his hand on her shoulder. “Do you wanna take a walk down to the clinic? Shoko’s gonna know what to do better than me.”
She doesn’t respond.
“You heard me?” He checks.
Her breathing’s speeding up as the color drains from her face, drenched in sweat from head to toe.
“Kirara?” He squeezes her upper arm. “You okay?”
She swallows wetly, a subtle tide of saliva starting to flow over her pale bottom lip. Her shoulders hitch inward so minutely, he wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t have his eyes, or if he wasn’t acutely aware of what’s about to happen when a kid makes a face like that.
Megumi was an ambitious choice for his first venture into parenthood, so he’s confronted about every worst-case scenario most caretakers dread. Whether he was any good at dealing with them is a different story. There would’ve been a real chance of John List’s next incarnation without Tsumiki’s assistance.
“One second–” He grabs the small trash can from beside his desk. “Here–”
He bends down, holding it under her chin as he loops his other arm around her back, beneath her underarms.
She gags softly as he pulls her to her feet, an excess of spit draining into the depths of the plastic liner.
“Do you think you can walk?” He asks, taking on most of her weight.
“M’okay–” She wheezes. “I–”
Her tongue rolls out with a muted noise as her abs tense, bringing nothing but more panic and discomfort. He can see her pulse racing on the side of her neck.
“Breathe,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna help you to the clinic, okay?”
“Uh-uh–” She forces out, nasally and weak, before lurching with the next threat of a dry heave. “M’nna… pass out–”
“Okay, yeah–” He pivots to dragging her the three steps to the sofa and carefully lowering her down there. He settles the bin in her lap for her to curl around as he sits beside her, sliding his hand up and down her spine.
“I need just… throwing up…” She mumbles. “Needa throw up…”
“Yeah, that might get it out of your system,” He encourages, pulling his phone from his pocket again.
“Demons inside me might come up…” She coughs weakly. “Shouldn’t have drunk devil piss, it just… was so colorful…”
“I’m not gonna ask what that means,” he says as Shoko’s number rings beside his ear.
“What do you want?” She picks up tiredly.
“And… m’just so lonely without Kinji…” Kirara starts to ramble beside him. “He’s… brothel fucking fighting in Nara, but lonely I’m all lone…”
“What?”
“Yeah, little issue,” he supplies. “I–”
“I understand don’t leaving, but he leaves…” She whimpers. “He’s a leaf…”
Something between a retch and a sob catches in her throat and triggers a sick convulsion, a small amount of neon orange vomit splashing onto a couple of crumpled forms and the Powerade he drank earlier.
“Yeah, get it up…” He wrinkles his nose and tucks his cell between his ear and shoulder so he can sweep hair out of her face and rub her back at the same time.
“What’s going on?” Shoko asks.
“You have experience with LSD, right?” He confirms.
“Yes?” She slowly answers. “Why?”
“You wanna take a guess at who’s, in their own words, ‘tripping balls’ in my office right now?” He presses the back of his hand to her overly warm nape. “Kinji’s out on assignment.”
“Oh, great…” He can hear the eye-roll in her tone.
“I was bored…” Kirara sniffles. “I didn’t mean to l-let it back inside–”
“You’re good,” he says distractedly. “I got rid of the entity. You’re fine.”
“There’s an entity?” She gasps, before a loud, echoing scrape of her throat brings up a concentrated mouthful of bile.
“Don’t mess with her,” Shoko scolds. “I’ll be there in a few minutes–”
“I’m not–” He argues, but she’s already hung up. “Whatever…”
“Gojo-sensei…” She groans.
“Yeah, kiddo?” He puts his phone back into his pocket. “You feeling any better?”
“Why’re blue you…?” She asks.
“Try that one again,” he says.
“Why are you blue–” She frustratedly overenunciates, then weakly gags on nothing.
“Uh… Bad luck?” He guesses. “I had a run in with a chocolate factory as a kid, but I don’t like to get into it.”
“Why–” She hiccups, then spits. “Why’d that make you depressed…?”
“I thought you meant the color.” He can’t keep the corner of his mouth from ticking upwards as he reaches behind him to grab some tissues from the box on the end table. “Sorry.”
“I think I fixed it…” She gulps and straightens up, reconsidering for a moment before she definitely nods. “Yeah… Case closed.”
“Okay, well, whatever you say.” He lets her hair down and moves the bin to the floor in front of her, offering the Kleenex with his free hand.
She just stares at them though, so he wipes her mouth himself.
“You’re… really nice…” She murmurs, suddenly dropping against him, forehead on his collarbone.
“I’m glad you feel that way.” He loosely hugs her back, rubbing circles over her spine. “Do you want some water? I don’t want to throw dehydration into the mix.”
“Mm, I just… my realize…” She lets out a soft breath of laughter. “Are yours?”
“Realize?” Wrinkles deepen on his forehead. “Real eyes?”
“Mine are…” She tells him. “No one bereaves me…”
“Yeah, I get it.” He pats her shoulder blade. “How about that water though? Sounds refreshing, doesn’t it?”
She shakes her head.
“M’not…” She takes a breath. “I just realized…”
“Yeah, I know–”
“So this is embarrassing…” She sighs. “You’re my teacher: andro-gay…”
“What?” He says, just as the door creaks open.
Shoko raises an eyebrow as she quietly steps inside, but he puts up one finger behind Kirara’s back for her to wait.
“What was that you said?” He asks again, as neutrally as possible, jostling her slightly. “You with me?”
“You’re my teacher…” She repeats. “And I think you’re gay–”
“Okay–” He bites the inside of his cheek, fighting a blush smile.
Similarly, Shoko presses her lips together tightly, closing her eyes, bringing her brows together, and shaking her head. She inhales through her nose, then looks up at the ceiling for a few seconds, before she fixes her face.
“You’re rainbow…” Kirara explains. “Your hair makes it rain bows cause it’s made of light…”
“Is that so?” He makes eye contact with Shoko, who’s in pajamas and probably more than a little drunk, judging by the subtle, whiskey-toned stains on her tank top and the way she’s cracking up at all.
“That’s why’s embarrassing…” She says. “M’telling my teacher I’m gay…”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” He checks.
“Are you retarded–” She complains.
“Okay– Well–” He interrupts, carefully trying to pull away. “Maybe don’t–”
“That’s what made me gay–” She insists, clinging. “I–”
“I think you forgot we already worked this out a while ago,” he says, finally freeing herself from her grasp.
“I don’t work…” She frantically shakes her head, staring at him with giant, terrified eyes.
“I just mean, it’s a little late to tell me to tell me ‘sike!’ on the gender thing,” he clarifies.
“What…” The tremor in her hands intensifies as she goes teary again. “I– You… you know…? I’m–”
“Hey.” Shoko places her hand on her shoulder, redirecting her as she bends down.
“Oh my god–” She gasps. “You’re beautiful–”
She grabs her face with both hands, leaning in as if to stare at her brain through her eyeballs.
“Nope–” Shoko recoils, composure in order, expertly separating her wrists to detach herself. “Hands to yourself–”
“Sorry– I’m sorry…” Kirara jumps backward, but the frame of the couch is in the way, so she just ends up rattling the furniture.
“It’s okay.” Gojo puts his hand back on her shoulder.
“You said she’s on LSD?” Shoko confirms with him.
“As far as I know.” He shrugs. “She said ‘Acid,’ and that’s all I could get out of her.”
“Well, it looks like it, so…” She squints, then snaps for her attention. “Tell me what substances you’re on.”
“Oh–” Kirara blinks.”I’m… tripping, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” Shoko replies. “On what?”
“Um…” She sniffles. “Am I in trouble–”
“Not right now,” she says curtly. “Tell me what you took.”
“Acid…” She softly admits. “Like way too much…”
“How much is too much?” She asks.
“I don’t know…” She mumbles. “Can I have… resting pills, or something…?”
“No, you’re fine.” Shoko stands. She pulls a thermometer from her pocket and swipes it across the kid’s forehead, then disinterestedly checks the reading before shoving it into Gojo’s hands.
“Am I normal?” Kirara glances at him nervously.
“No, but your temperature is,” Shoko says, clipping a monitor onto her finger, which then becomes the most interesting thing in the world apparently.
“Woah…” She tilts her head, fascinated.
Shoko flicks him in the side of the head before he can look down and see what it’s all about.
“Check her vitals every half hour,” she instructs. “Call me or walk her to the clinic if she spikes a fever or if her heart rate climbs above 120, but she’ll probably be fine. If that stuff’s anything like it was in 2006, your biggest issue will be keeping her from making a fool out of herself.”
“Wait, so you're leaving?” He frowns as she steps toward the door. “This is your wheelhouse, not mine.”
“Nope, not a medical emergency.” She waves him off. “Not my problem.”
“What am I supposed to do?” He asks over his shoulder as she grabs the doorknob.
“Trip sit,” she says. “Have fun–”
“Wait–”
And she’s gone with a soft scrape the draft protector against hardwood, then a stern click of the latch mechanism.
He sighs, glaring at the vague halo of her cursed energy as it dissipates.
“Okay–” He covers up the screen as he pulls the pulse ox off. “You with me?”
Kirara belatedly lifts her head to look at, then past him, distantly gazing at either the framed pictures of classes past, or the “my office is a safe space” poster he nabbed at one of those optional sensitivity trainings Yaga (strongly) encouraged him to attend back in the day, when he was still terrified to leave him in front of a class unsupervised.
Gojo glances at the wall too for a moment, then turns back.
“Too much?” He asks with a tired exhale.
She slowly nods.
“Thought so.” He pats her on the back encouragingly. “How about that water I was talking about? Sound tempting now?”
She doesn’t stop nodding.
“Awesome,” he says as he stands. “Sit tight for just a sec.”