Chapter Text
“I've made up my mind/ don't need to think it over if I'm wrong, I'm right/ don't need to look no further”
Adele, “Chasing Pavements"
Kugisaki Nobara perched atop the steps leading to the head temple of her institution when she stopped dwelling on the strained truth.
It was the beginning of August and summer had arrived just in time to announce that she was in love with Fushiguro Megumi.
Nobara didn't like this one bit.
The weather was no longer humid, being replaced by a consistent warmth. Many trees have started to produce fruit and these changes can only be noticeable as she stares from across the garden, where the forest greets everyone with sunlight.
The contrast of the cozy view was particularly acknowledged by her numbed thighs — intensifying her nuisance — as she rested on the cold and frigid concrete. Nobara detailed the sour expression of her friend from afar, surrounded by the two energetic people who were causing it; his broad shoulders stood next to Itadori's shorter body and Gojo-sensei's protruding figure.
The brightness did wonders for Megumi's light complexion. Though covered by the shadow of a tree, his body still reflected specks of sunlight filtering through the tiny spaces between the leaves. It drew attention to his clear skin and his long, inky eyelashes that matched the color of his clothes.
She only wished to sit closer; enough to listen to his breathing, to count his lashes and decipher the true shades of his eyes.
He twitched his eyebrow and clenched his sharp jaw in frustration. Their teacher's presence made him feel incredibly annoyed.
The more colorful pair was having a cheerful conversation about something that seemed to be the most interesting subject in the world. It wasn't the conversation or Gojo's sudden appearance after weeks that displeased him, mainly. But the very much ignored request to explain their new mission because Itadori made a comment only capable of distracting a child. Truly, the audacity of Yuuji and the incompetence of Gojo sometimes would put him on the edge, but recent events — now noted as Megumi's latest death experience — were the real cause.
The fear of dying; it was evident even from this far. Only depressed thoughts had the ability to bring the burdened smile that was forming on her face.
She remembers.
Nobara lazily traced his frame. His hands were shielded from others' gaze inside his pockets, but his stiff shoulders betrayed him. His undeniable apprehension could be traced back to those days; the dark circles under his eyes and slim body were proof as well.
It was all a product of an experience that has left Megumi easily bothered and drained. He was, usually, more patient or at the very least less obvious around their group.
She wondered —if he looked this irritated when she joined those two in their excessive antics.
She wondered —was she meant to tone it down a bit, to stop getting under his skin? Is this just temporally?
More importantly, after what happened, can Nobara comfort him?
No.
She wondered.
Can Nobara comfort herself by having an excuse to be near Megumi?
No.
These thoughts.
She didn't like them one bit.
...
Nobara's hands couldn't be nastier as she spent the past weeks biting her nails out of distress. She has grown used to covering her hands just like him; under her sleeves, to prevent others from seeing the usually perfect manicured hands bloody and skin-peeled.
As everyone has noticed by now, ever since their last mission Nobara has been feeling...off.
Itadori and they went both separate ways, chased by different Grade 2 cursed spirits. The trio was cornered by their strange technique; surprisingly, Itadori got a couple of days in bed rest, while Kugisaki and Fushiguro were trapped in a hellfire pit instead.
For a fucking week.
Another day faded away in this shit show and Nobara couldn't blend fully with the rest after that encounter. She watched them from a distance, briefly drifting her attention to her nails, in search.
On summer, time passed so slowly —piling up such unmemorable events— that Nobara couldn't believe this wasn't the same day.
She literally did this yesterday. The only striking thing? Gojo-sensei was still around.
Except he wasn't welcome.
For Nobara and Megumi, Gojo was the evidence they needed to be saved. Begged. Nothing particularly wrong with that; it's good to see him do his job for once. The thing is, his presence brought together pieces of a memory - a moment in time meant to be forgotten.
Then again, what isn't? Every fucking thing triggered her lately.
Especially that black-haired man over there who seems to not be having a care in the world. Unlike yesterday, he wasn't acting weird. Most of their friends were outside training or fooling around and he even was enjoying himself among them.
Fushiguro doesn't give a single fuck.
Screw his tensed arms and vacant eyes, that's not enough; he should be eating himself up just like her. He should make it up to her, even. Her teeth pierced into her nail like a vicious beast. Trying to take away anything that was left attached to the flesh; digging for their lack of.
Fighting against cursed spirits required a calloused demeanor, no doubts. There was just something unique about the pain caused by the monsters they encountered as sorcerers. While some argued that the pain was consistently inhumane and crushing, others argue that its impact diminishes with anticipation.
Previously aligned with the former belief, Nobara has learned. She now realizes that an unexpected encounter, regardless of the level of anticipation, catches one off guard, to say the least.
There was the pain that strikes you down and takes away your dignity. It burns your skin and provokes you, forcing you to react and strike back. It is in plain sight, and it teaches you how to look at it in the eye to tell the source that it won't defeat you. It's rich and engrossed by survival, poisoning and yet the cure.
The tip of her fingers hurt; commanding her to stop.
And then, there's the pain that you can't see who's causing it, there's no one there. It is you against yourself, dueling on good fortune.
Undetectable.
Concealed.
Effortlessly, it turns into suppressed anger; who are you going to vent it with? Who is there to blame?
It is— the ridiculousness and shame of facing an absent enemy, completely out of your reach. But their control over you isn't. And you can only pray to depart quickly, like removed weeds. Who wants to be a rotting apple? Decomposing. Only a feast for putrefaction.
Whether those events happened in a tangible space or somewhere inside the cursed spirit's mind wasn't what has had Nobara isolated these past weeks, going all over again and again through the mechanics of their ability.
Despite being surrounded by people, trying her best to engage again, Nobara has now a tendency to space out thanks to Fushiguro fucking Megumi's touch.
Her chin rested on her hand, she kept shaking her legs, in hopes to stop remembering. The vibrations that were going through her body soothed her, and effectively kept her focused by filtering her anxiety.
Yes, the question was confidently answered that those events did happen inside the curse's mind, and they were so troublesome that the one and only Gojo Satoru had to intervene. But it was done already, and there's not much that Nobara can make out of it. No much rope to grip.
But rotting besides him? Being each other's last memory? Two dead bodies nowhere to be found, lying at the bottom of somewhere deep in the underground —for lack of words to describe it— unreachable and unknown?
She was grasping on too tight, like a silky sheet.
God, Nobara don't go there.
The spiritual being —the fucking devil— was able to not only seclude them from the rest of the world but to also confine them within the limits of his soul and mind, no longer part of this earthy plane. It wasn't rash and impetuous like the fights they were used to, and frankly, already mastered.
Like a sea animal choking on plastic and begging for oxygen, the right word was captivity. They were inadequately prepared. Built. To escape. At some point, they were desperately trying to reach for the piece of plastic around their neck responsible for strangling them with their short legs.
But a fucking sea turtle isn't self-conscious.
They were mortified.
An absent enemy who somehow was powerful enough to kill them without even taking the time to grace them with its presence. Both teenagers had no injuries, not a single scratch except the ones they inflicted themselves by unsuccessfully looking for a breakout.
The second they entered the desolated area, they were already running out of time.
The trick was that their physical condition would have suffered the repercussions in an unusual rhythm than how time normally passes; their bodies began to collapse more rapidly than —what she was sure of— it was even possible.
According to Gojo, in a matter of a couple of days, they were most likely to die.
But when aren't they, anyways? Likely to die.
And that goes without mentioning their mental state. Nobara and Megumi remained unconscious of time, unable to recognize any figure despite their developed sensitivity to the dark. Their health decayed so rapidly that they could only take a guess on how many days had passed, for their sanity was being taken away from them as well.
For what they thought were several weeks—knowing now damn well that they weren't—it was just them against their bodies.
Relying on one another, expectant for the second they would start to wonder who would be the first to stop breathing.
She remembers.
Every single stage: the panic, the frustration, the grief, the acceptance. They were witnesses. No judgment fixed in, none after the ugliness and exposition of desperate attempts that lead to shameful actions.
Acceptance almost felt towards each other, not their misfortune.
It was confidential —the agony—. Like a scandalous secret. Like a bad joke only heard by your friend. Afterwards, she spent her nights coming to terms with the intimacy of their experience, of what she still dreads for happening but silently regrets craving.
Nobara was
She looked down at her nails, inspecting, no longer any lingering flesh to pick at, only a bearable burning sensation on her fingertips.
hidden in a corner of the world with someone that she wouldn't mind seeing last.
That she might want to see last.
Be the person she sees last.
Nobara can still remember the feeling of his frail skin against her trembling hand.
...