Work Text:
The broad campus of Tokyo Jujutsu High, as well as its surrounding territories comprised of mountains, endless trees and even a few streams of water that are mostly knee-deep but crystal-clear nonetheless, look exceptionally beautiful under the light of the full moon and the tiny stars that are often visible here, on the outskirts of the city, rather than the heavily light polluted urban areas which always hide them away.
Not even the barefoot hike up the endless amount of stone steps that lead to the main buildings of the school can stop you from admiring the view up above. Being a social butterfly for the day sure does make you appreciate the nature and your value as a human in it.
The nighttime doesn’t necessarily mean that people around campus are home, safely tucked away in their beds and waiting for a new day to start. Maybe some of the students are. But teachers, alumni, assistant managers and all the other kinds of sorceress mostly aren’t.
After all, it’s all about living to work around here, whether it be in the form of missions, reports, assessments, or strategic meetings.
Even on a supposed day off you can’t help but find your way here, navigating the winded pathways and many courtyards like the back of your hand even in the dark; heading straight for the office that you know is always open.
It is still summer, but the ground under your feet is already cold. Evidently, the sun that set hours ago is now a distant enough memory for the soil and stone to cool down, but it’s nothing in comparison to the first step you take inside the building.
The halls of everything around were built for many more people that currently roam them every day. Even with renovations and best efforts, the corridors are empty both physically and emotionally. Nothing is spiritually charged, therefore – slowly decaying. You try not to dwell on it too much. Even the idea of a thought about it is upsetting enough.
Even with your steps light and measured, there’s no doubt in your mind that he knows you’re here already, so without much decorum and ceremony, the second you reach the room you need, you push the door open without knocking.
Judging by how Satoru doesn’t look up in response, he doesn’t mind.
At such a late hour his office is very inviting, simultaneously feeling like a personal space, a work nook, and an area that keeps you wanting to come back to. During the day hours the students come by as well. Not very often, of course. There isn’t enough of them to create a big demand. But when the said demand is there, seeing them around is both heartwarming and nostalgic in the worst way possible.
“Working hard, or hardly working?” you ask, stepping into the warmly-lit space and dropping the shoes you had with you by the entrance, before slipping into a chair right across from Satoru, who sits comfortably in front of a table in a seat that often doubles as a good enough spot for impromptu naps.
“Oh, wow, look at you being adventurous and coming back from a wedding earlier than expected,” he replies, suddenly directing a table lamp forward as if to illuminate you like it’s an interrogation. Jokingly, of course with how short-lived it is.
Your presence seems to serve as a good enough excuse for him to stop going through a mountain of documents invading each spare spot on the wide wooden table.
“I promise, it really did end this early,” you say in defense as you finally relax after a full day of diligently performing a role of a guest of honor since you and the bride are close older friends.
Just like most modern weddings, this one was a long, but a mostly pleasant ordeal, filled with traditional ceremonies, shrines, a grand reception and a lot of congratulatory speeches. Now that it’s done, you can finally breathe a bit freer.
“It was exhilarating, I can see it written all over your face,” he goes on. Somehow, you can see a glint in his eyes even through a blindfold.
“It was beautiful, and emotional, and touching,” you correct him. “Very happy for the couple.”
A brief rest is enough to remind you to reach for your bag still slung over your shoulder, hanging there like a dead weight. You finally drop it to the ground with a loud thud. He doesn't say anything, clearly knowing well enough by now that there's more for you to say about it.
"Did make me feel a bit socially stunted,” you continue as you finally slouch a bit in peace. “I gave a good speech about eternal love, and then during the after-party the bride pulled me to the side and said she will pray for me to find the true purpose and happiness through a connection with my very own person."
She was very sincere about it, tears in her eyes and a tight hug that felt almost too personal after a very strict and almost distant conduct during the many ceremonies of the day. Felt genuine.
"If I tell you that it's all subjective and every person's happiness is their own, will you feel better?" he asks, clearly preferring talking to dealing with documents. He even stretches in his seat, making his suddenly-serious tone not all that convincing, especially after an audible crack in his back.
“I mean, I’m not bothered-bothered by it. It’s not like anyone can blame me and say I didn’t try hard enough, right? I’m just curious about…let’s call it a different perspective on it. And since the topic is all about the hardships that come with love, I figured there’s no better person to ask than you.”
The smile he gives in response to that is too wide to not signal at least some level of amusement. His struggles with it a bit different than yours; a lot different, actually. If his experience with the said ‘true purpose and happiness through a connection’ has been nothing short of paramount to his becoming of a person that he is today by how much impact it had, you, on the other hand, never got nearly as far.
“Really honored by the compliment,” he says, still showing off his perfectly-white teeth. “It does feel like a bit of a jab at me, but I forgive you.”
“Come on, just be honest with me.”
His smile doesn’t falter as he leans back against the padded chair as if deep in thought, his face less visible now that it’s further from the lamp and away from the moonlight that would have trickled into the room if it weren’t for the heavy blinds covering the windows.
“I don’t think it’s outrageous that most expect to find their person and wish the same to others,” he finally says after awhile, still mostly out of view. “The catch here is that there’s no guarantee that when you do find them, they will stay by your side forever.”
It’s not hard to guess what, or rather who, he has on his mind now. You almost feel bad for bringing it up, but it’s just one of those days when some reassurance is needed, and for better or for worse, he never declines talking about it. In a way, it feels like he is quietly reminiscing too.
“I’m not even sure what’s worse – losing your person, or never even getting to feel like there’s anyone for you in the whole world to begin with,” you reply. “I do feel like we’re threading on the ground of a dangerous topic here.”
When that earns you a laugh from him, another pause follows. Some extra time to think about it.
You did try to adjust to what’s expected of you in life, tried forming connections and looking for the person, but it never ended well. At sixteen it was still treated as normal, your mother still used to warn you about the consequences of hanging out with boys; at eighteen it was praise-worthy since all you did was focus on studying; at twenty people joked about late-blooming; and at twenty-three being alone and having no interest in changing that felt like an ailment no one could comprehend, which is why it was invariably followed by ‘did something happen to you?’, as if no other explanation could possibly be there. Now no one asked even that.
“You know, when I was around sixteen, I remember talking to a classmate on the phone,” you say, eventually breaking the silence and making Satoru sit back up straight. “She was telling me all about her boyfriend, how much she loved him, and how she was sure they’d be married in a few years. And I told her that by twenty we would both have husbands and a few kids each.”
He carefully laughs to that, the remnants of his personal past reflections now almost gone.
“Hard to find someone more ambitious and driven than a sixteen-year old.”
“I’m pretty sure I told her I’d have three kids. All by twenty,” you scoff.
Even though it might sound ridiculous now, back then the genuine desire to fit the expectation and do things right had you convinced that you would have enough resolve to achieve it if you wanted it hard enough. Evidently, it didn’t help. In fact, never even fully made it into the list of priorities in life further down the road.
“Not to alarm you or anything, but you really are behind the schedule on this one,” he jokes, his usual teasing nature making it feel not so bad.
Why rush now?
“I often see this phrase…it’s about how worrying about the future is meaningless, because there’s no guarantee that you’d be there to go through it. So what’s the point of doing anything, it you might not live long enough to see the result, right?”
Some days it sounds to you like a passive suicidal ideation. Almost like a testament to yourself that if things get tough, the answer to them is simple, especially if you don’t leave your person behind to grieve.
“Or maybe it means that you need to stay in the moment and live a little while you can?”
The suggestion coming from him of all people sounds nothing short of hilarious. Barely having lived for himself, buried in endless work and a crushing weight of responsibility that never ever felt like it was meant to be shouldered by a single person, he is still talking about ‘living a little’.
A shuddering breath that leaves you in response is something between a laugh and a sigh.
“Let me guess, you won’t be taking your own suggestion, will you?”
When he doesn’t answer right away, you silently reach for one of the stacks on the table. He doesn’t rush to stop you, definitely not when the safest option seems to consist of keeping a close eye on you just in case. He opens one of the drawers to hand you an extra pen.
“Do you want anything? A tea, maybe?” he offers, clearly bracing for a long night with an extra person in his space. “We’ll get through all of this fast,” he adds, seemingly referring to the documents. Or maybe not.
You nod eagerly to that.
One day you really will get through this.