[Setting in year 2010, Post Star Plasma Vessel and Pre-Canon]
«I'm Aoi. Aoi Fujikawa. Aoi like Hollyhock, not the color Blue. Yeah, I know-nobody ever gets it right the first time.»
A simple life as an art student in Tokyo was all Aoi ever wanted. S...
Surprise Surprise! Happy Birthday, Satoru! You're insufferable, but we wouldn't have you any other way. 💙
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LOVE
✎✘✘✘✘✘? ■■■■
-Aoi-
The last few days in Shizuoka had been... unexpectedly quiet, if not outright strange. After the chaos at Sunpu Castle-and the subsequent "restructuring" of the historical landmark-Aoi and Satoru found themselves at her grandmother's home, ostensibly to recover. In truth, the time had been less about healing and more about dodging responsibility, at least for Aoi. She had made it her mission to steer clear of Kusakabe and Nanami, who had both made their feelings about her abundantly clear and were, in their own words, donewith her.
«Good riddance,» Kusakabe had grumbled, shrugging his coat over his shoulders with a wince, still nursing his barely-healed wounds. «Don't ever make me come back here.»
Aoi, unbothered, had waved them off with exaggerated cheer. «You two don't know how to appreciate Shizuoka! It's a beautiful city.»
Kusakabe snorted, his glare sharp as ever. «Beautiful? It's cursed, is what it is. Infested. Overrun. And somehow, so are you.»
Nanami, ever the bastion of professionalism, had kept his parting words brief, though Aoi caught a rare flicker of relief in his usually impassive expression. Kusakabe, on the other hand, had grumbled all the way to the train station.
«I don't care what happens to you all,» Kusakabe muttered darkly, shooting her a sidelong glare as they walked. «Just don't ever drag me back to Shizuoka. Or near her. Or him.» He jabbed a thumb toward Satoru, who was far too busy stacking mochi on Nanami's head to notice-or care.
«You'll miss me,» Aoi teased, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.
«Not in this lifetime,» Kusakabe retorted. But the venom in his tone was undercut by the quickened pace of his retreat toward the train. Nanami, ever the picture of stoicism, sighed deeply, muttering something under his breath about needing a vacation in Malaysia.
And then they were gone, leaving Aoi and Satoru to their own devices.
The days that followed blurred into an oddly domestic rhythm. They hadn't exactly wasted time, but neither had they rushed to leave Shizuoka. atoru had thrown himself into the bureaucratic aftermath of their mission with all the grace of a diva forced into menial labor. Between filing reports, placating the Jujutsu higher-ups, and smoothing over the castle's "renovation," he'd spent hours sprawled dramatically across her grandmother's bakery benches, voicing his endless suffering.
«They've got me writing reports,» he bemoaned one sunny afternoon, splayed out like an oversized cat in a sunbeam. «The strongest sorcerer in the world, reduced to office drudgery. What's next? Filing taxes?»
