Your Life As A Tokyo Jujutsu High Background Student

Chapter 42 - Forever and some more

You understood Kugisaki Nobara's life philosophy better than most: look good, smell divine, and never miss a fanfiction update. These weren't just preferences; they were her religion. So even as the world crumbled in Shibuya's aftermath, you made damn sure to uphold her sacred rituals.

Her infamous 10-step skincare routine remained an enigma wrapped in a moisturizing sheet mask, but you'd picked up enough to muddle through the very basics. Micellar water first – that much you knew. A careful swipe across her face, then a rinse because build-up was the enemy, or so Nobara had drilled into your head. Finally, you applied that ginseng moisturizer so expensive you expected it to grant wishes and do your taxes.

With her face tended to, you booted up your laptop, pulling up her favorite smut fic. The text-to-speech feature droned on, filling the sterile room with tales of pining and passionate tumbling. You liked to think that somewhere in the depths of her coma, Nobara was eagerly soaking up every word, probably critiquing the author's euphemisms and plotting her own fic to show them how it's really done.

Shoko had mended all of Nobara's physical injuries, but the most severe damage had been inflicted directly on her soul – something beyond even Shoko's insane technique. Nobara had been in a coma ever since. Whether she'd wake up... Well, that ball was in her court now.

But if there was one thing you knew about Nobara, it was her pig-headed stubbornness – Something that rivaled your own. You'd bet your last bottle of mint chocolate milk that she was waging war in there, battling her way back to consciousness with the same ferocity she brought to jujutsu and shopping hauls. All you could do was keep her clean, fragrant, and up to date on her fics. Heaven forbid she woke up with a pimple and missed chapter updates. The apocalypse might actually pale in comparison to her wrath.

Once she was looking presentable – because Nobara would accept nothing less – you moved on to hefting her body into a different position, rubbing her arms and legs to ensure circulation. Shoko could fix those nasty side effects of prolonged immobility, but you wanted to do this for Nobara anyway. You knew she would have done it for you, likely complaining the entire time about how heavy you were.

After that was done, you tackled her fingernails. The polish had been demolished during the fight – chipped, cracked, and in some cases, missing entirely. She'd lose her shit if she saw them like this. You meticulously removed the old polish before applying a fresh coat in that pastel blue shade she'd painted on your left hand the night Shibuya went to hell.

Your own nails were a mess of smudges and chips. But Nobara had painted them. You wanted to keep that piece of her for as long as possible. It was a small, silly thing to cling to, but it felt like a promise. With any luck, by the time they completely flaked off, you hoped – no, you needed – Nobara to be awake, ready with a cutting remark about your shameful nail maintenance and a fresh bottle of her latest color obsession.

You could almost hear her voice, sharp and fond: "Seriously? I leave you alone for five minutes and this is what happens? Guess I'll have to stick around and make sure you don't embarrass yourself."

You were nowhere near as skilled as Nobara at painting nails, a fact that became painfully obvious as you struggled with her delicate fingers. More than twice you had to start over on the same finger, cursing under your breath as you wiped away the smudged polish. By the time you reached her pinkie – the last one, thank fucking god – your back ached from hunching over her hand for so long.

It was in this less-than-dignified position that Shoko found you. She paused in the doorway, taking in the chaos you'd created: beauty products scattered across every available surface, your laptop perched precariously on the nearby cabinet, still blaring that godawful horny fic. Of course, Nobara's OTP would choose this moment to engage in a particularly steamy make-out session, the monotone text-to-speech voice somehow making it even more awkward.