YOU, ME, US [ okkotsu yuuta x reader ]

02: IN THE DAYLIGHT

You return home long after the sun disappears. There's an eerie, familiar silence that devours your being as you step inside, shivers rippling down your spine as you fumble around with your keys, unsure of where to put them. You take off your outdoor shoes, opting for a nice pair of slippers in order to avoid the cold floor of your apartment.

You live alone. That's how it's always been. There's a growing, aching feeling of emptiness that resonates within your chest as you stare at the lifeless living room and the untouched kitchen. Nothingness envelopes you in its embrace, and although it is made of nothing, you feel it wholly. In your chest, your head, your being, you feel a void, an abyss, that consumes you. Endlessly.

So you run, as you always have. Because avoiding shit has always been in your nature, and you've watched far too many horror movies to face the unknown so recklessly. Focusing your gaze on the ground, you avoid parts of your life that have always been there. Parts of your life that are terribly lonely, terribly scary.

When you were younger, you were afraid. Not only because you could see curses, but also, because they saw you.

Now that you're older, you're still afraid. Not necessarily of curses, but more so the gravity that comes with them. You're afraid, so, so afraid of who you are, who you are destined—forced—to be.

But you don't want to be a Jujutsu sorcerer or a hero. You don't want to see what others don't, what they think is pure fiction. Oh, all you've ever wanted in this damned life of yours is to live, to take control of what's supposed to be your.

You want to live. Not as a sorcerer, but as yourself: a dreamer, a billionaire.

For now, you're a Jujutsu sorcerer. When you grow older, however, you'll find a way to make that change. No matter what.

With a heavy heart, you force yourself over to the kitchen, rummaging aimlessly through the various cabinets in search of a quick snack. Even though the boy from earlier was wimpy as fuck, his curse compensates for all that he lacks. Not only is his curse beautiful, it's a special grade, incredibly powerful being that he definitely doesn't deserve.

I could treat that curse better, you think, finally settling on an orange. In the middle of your kitchen is a small, wooden table with only one chair. You find your place on it, staring blankly at the stove in front of you while your ears begin to ring from the silence.

Your nails dig into the stem of the orange, the scent of citrus emanating throughout the air as you slowly peel away at its rind. The ends of your nails stain from peeling the surface, a few pieces of pulp clinging to your skin as you divide the orange into sections.

Daylight drips from your skin, and you stare quietly at the orange slices before you, wondering what to make of yourself.

Why? you wonder, staring at the individual orange pieces. Why did I do that?

There was no point in splitting the orange up—you're the only one who's going to eat it anyway.

You think that oranges were made to be eaten together; if not, why are they made in sections? If oranges were not meant to be shared, to be loved between lovers, then what are they for?

Today, you stain your fingers with daylight for yourself. You peel the orange, separate the sections, and devour the fruit of love in the endless silence of your home.

Tomorrow, you think. Tomorrow will be different.

☆

You weren't always alone. There was a time—a couple years ago—when you lived with someone else.