a place for keeping fruit... @oporotheca - Tumblr Blog

bound

part one — the apartment | series m. list | > next chapter

in your haste to move away from your obnoxious ex, you find yourself agreeing to rent one of the first apartments in your price range— the only problem is, said apartment was also the scene of a murder less than a year prior... what could go wrong?

pairings: ghost!gojo x f!reader

content: mentions of murder/blood/death, reader's ex sucks, lots of background info on reader + her family/friends, gojo is lowkey a little shit even as a ghost

notes: welcome to part one of my long awaited ghost gojo series! I've been planning this for so long now and am incredibly excited to finally share it with everyone!! that being said, please be sure to read this warning before continuing ♡.

credit: gojo fanart by 510_juju on twt | sparkle divider by @/cursed-carmine

wc: 11k

"This the place?"

The gruff rumble of your step-brother’s voice triggered you to look up from your phone for the first time in nearly twenty minutes, eyes darting around the small cabin of the rented moving truck you were both sitting in before being cast back down toward your screen. You thumbed away the tab containing the lengthy text you’d been drafting— quickly bringing up the one that contained the GPS directions to your new apartment, and nodded, unbuckling your seat belt.

"Yup, this is it."

Reaching over to open the heavy truck door, you watched it swing outward on its hinges before you stepped down onto the running board, taking a deep breath of cool fall air into your lungs.

You stayed like that for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of freedom and peace, before finally you motioned with your thumb to the apartment complex across the street.

"It's the one attached to that second floor balcony. I'll run ahead and unlock the door before everyone else gets here."

You looked back just long enough to see Sukuna nod his head once in reply before you stepped down onto the pavement, looking up at what was about to be your new home with a mild sense of bewilderment.

How had you gotten here?

Well, actually, you knew the answer to that all too well.

The end to your three-year relationship had made your rooming situation with your ex pretty tense, and after four long months of trying to make it work for the convenience of not having to move, you'd finally given in and started looking at apartments back near the more suburban parts of Tokyo, closer to where you’d grown up.

The only problem had been that there was next to nothing available.

Tokyo wasn't exactly a cheap place to live, and you weren't really feeling all that great about a roommate after your previous living situation— leaving you to pour over all sorts of sketchy listings in hopes of finding something suitable.

And in the end, that had landed you at a four story apartment complex built in the early seventies.

It was a fifteen minute drive away from the more metropolitan parts of the city, a seven minute walk from a park, a five minute walk from a convenience store, and a three minute walk from your new job at a coffee shop that your friends were always talking about.

A spot to grab pre-made meals and groceries, a place to sit and enjoy nature, and a nice cafe to work at all within ten minutes of you, and you didn't even have to deal with heavy traffic on your street. What more could a girl ask for?

Well, she could probably ask for appliances that weren't older than her, a functioning heating unit, and an apartment that someone hadn't been murdered in, but how else could she afford rent in an area like this one?

You shuddered a bit at the thought of what had supposedly happened inside the building, and tried to shake it off as you reached the front door, pausing to take note of the name that was scribbled on tape next to the call button for apartment 2C— your new home.

Gojo Satoru

You made a mental note to change that later on before punching in the code to the main entrance, sighing in relief when the old door gave an electronic click to convey that it had unlocked.

The landlord had warned you that it could be difficult at times since it was an old door equipped with a far more modern system, and you'd be lying if you said his comment about "just shouting until someone buzzed you in" hadn't made you a little nervous about getting your stuff inside.

"Alright, so far so good.”

You muttered under your breath, knocking briefly on the old wood of the door in front of you so as not to jinx yourself before pushing it open and taking a hesitant step inside, where the scent of old wood and floor polish enthusiastically greeted you.

Your shoes tapped on the linoleum beneath your feet as you moved further inside, snapping the deadbolt of the lock out manually before the door could close in order to keep it wedged open. The electronic lock gave a sharp beep to warn you that it had been left ajar, but beyond that, didn't set off any alarms or give any security warnings— so you decided to leave it so your brother could get inside on his own.

Taking another brief glance around the lobby area, you found little worth noting and opted to take the stairs immediately to your left rather than the elevator a few paces ahead.

The stairs were made of aged wood that creaked ominously with each step you took, but even so, you could feel their sturdiness, somehow having remained structurally sound even after years of use.

Upon reaching the top of the staircase, which landed you on the second floor, you stepped forward instead of continuing up, shoe planting firmly atop the heavily marred wood flooring that adorned the hallway.

From there, you took a right, reaching into your coat pocket as you walked all the way to the end of the hall, pulling your key out just as you made it to the door.

It was quiet, but not eerily so for a Tuesday at 10am, when you knew that almost everyone who lived in your complex was likely working or sleeping in. Still, you couldn't help but wish it were a little more populated around here, to help the sound of your footsteps feel a bit less loud in your ears if nothing else.

Sighing to yourself, you placed your key in the lock, turning it slowly before pushing the heavy wooden door open with a grunt, taking note of how weighty it felt beneath your palms.

"At least I'll know they worked for it if the murderer comes back for me too." You muttered under your breath, stepping in and placing a brick that was just inside between the door and its frame to keep it from closing.

It wasn't uncommon to see them used as doorstops around here, but in a brick stone building of this age, you couldn't help but worry that it had once been of some structural importance.

Still, you shrugged off the thought soon after it surfaced, pulling your coat closer around yourself as you began to survey your surroundings.

Sure, you'd toured the place just a little over two weeks back, but this was the very first time you'd ever been in it alone, and as you lingered in the stifling silence of your new home, you couldn't help but shiver a little.

At that, the question of your thermostat's location rose to mind, and you began taking small steps into the living area, until you found it on the wall beside the entrance to your hallway.

The landlord had warned you that the apartment ran cold (partially because of the poor sealing job done on the balcony doors, and partially because of the rather ancient heating system), but you increased the temperature on the thermostat nonetheless, mentally praying that it might bring the heat up a degree or two.

The soft ticking of the radiator located further down the same wall indicated to you that you had at least managed to do something regarding the chill, so you decided to take the little victory in stride and leave well enough alone for now.

You had a new apartment to explore alone for the very first time, after all.

Walking into the kitchen, you immediately set your bag down on top of the nearby counter, shimmying the accessory off your shoulder and leaning it against the wall, careful to ensure that nothing spilled out in the process.

After that you moved on to the old seventies style yellow fridge, sighing in relief when you pulled it open to reveal a pristine white interior that seemed to be sustaining a cool temperature without issue. This fact also remained true about the freezer located above it, so with that, you moved on to the cabinets, checking inside of each one to make sure that the previous tenant hadn't left anything behind.

Your thoughts regarding the man who had lived there before you drifted a bit as you continued your chore of checking all the wooden cabinets in the drafty kitchen, steering your mind back to the day of your tour, when your landlord, a man who’d introduced himself to you simply as “Mr. Ishida”, had informed you of the real reason that rent was so cheap in what would soon be your new apartment.

"So, before we go inside I am required to let you know that someone did pass away here a little under a year ago."

He'd said far too casually as he wedged the key into the lock, and if not for how desperate you were to get out of the place you’d been sharing with your ex, you probably would have called everything off right there. That said, you had long since grown tired of dealing with the awkwardness associated with trying to make your current living situation work, so if the only apartment in your price range that didn't require a roommate had its quirks, then so be it.

"The previous tenant?"

You’d asked curiously, stepping into the apartment after the man and taking a look around the naturally lit space, which allowed you to see the open concept kitchen and living room as well as the glass balcony doors.

"Yes.”

Mr Ishida had replied as nonchalantly as possible before he gestured to the hardwood floors adorning the entire open area that was visible to you.

"So, as you can see, I meant it when I said no carpet. There used to be a ton, but we removed it after the last tenant’s things were moved out. The floor is a little scratched up from the job, but we tried to make sure all of the staples were collected."

You stiffened a bit at the mention of the carpeting being ripped up recently, sticking your vaguely chilled hands into your pockets as you looked around the room.

"They look nice..."

You murmured, trying to remain as open minded as possible despite the strange topic of discussion.

"So the guy who lived here last… died in the apartment?”

You asked nervously, hoping to learn at least a little bit more about what had happened. With any luck, the cause may have even been something natural, like old age or disease.

The landlord had nodded in response to your query and walked over to the balcony doors, cracking them open and letting them swing inward in opposite directions as he motioned for you to follow him onto the concrete landing.

"That is correct. He was killed in the spare bedroom.”

You froze at that, eyes widening into saucers as you struggled not to gape at the man in front of you.

"You mean that the person who died here was murdered? By who?!”

You asked incredulously, watching in shock as your soon to be landlord simply nodded.

"Yes, he was murdered, but I don’t quite remember the killer’s name…”

He trailed off for a few moments as if deep in thought before speaking up again,

“Fu…”

He scowled subtly to himself, brows furrowing in obvious frustration as he tried to recall the name you’d asked him for.

“Fu… Fujiwara? Furukawa? It was something along those lines, and I’m sure it was in the news anyhow.” He made a gesture with his hand as if to brush off the topic, an ease to his words that left you wondering just what type of life one had to lead to appear so unaffected by death.

You shivered a bit at the thought, rubbing at your arms and making your way off the balcony and back into the apartment, which suddenly felt a lot less welcoming than before.

"Is uh, is the murder why the carpet was removed in here?" You asked hesitantly, gesturing vaguely toward the floor as the landlord raised a brow at your question, working to process it for a moment before a look of understanding came across his face, and he began shaking his head with a slight smile.

"Oh no, we really did just think it dated the place, all of the other vacant apartments got the same treatment." He began, making his way down the hall before he stopped suddenly at a doorway to his right, the room inside of which appeared to have the same view of outside as the balcony did.

"This is the spare bedroom. The previous tenant was using it as an office space because he liked the windowsill sitting area and needed a place to grade his student’s work. He was a teacher, although I don’t think I ever asked what he taught."

He paused for a moment, and before he even spoke, you already knew exactly what he was going to say.

You let him finish anyway.

"This is the room he passed away in, if you were wondering. We took the carpet out and had a forensic cleaning team deal with the rest before we decided to basically replace everything anyway. Even the cushion on the bench windowsill and a section of the wallpaper. It wasn’t pretty. I think the police said he’d been stabbed upwards of 20 times."

You nodded softly, feeling a dull nausea settle in the pit of your stomach.

"That's... good to know."

Mr. Ishida hummed, patting the side of the door frame before carrying on with the tour, showing you the bathroom, which consisted of a standing shower, a retro style baby blue toilet, and a vintage sink with a mirror cabinet mounted onto the wall above it.

You found it charming in an odd way, despite how clearly dated it was, and nodded when asked if you were ready to see the bedroom, which apparently had a bathroom of its very own attached to it.

Together, you walked to a door at the very end of the hall.

The owner reached forward to open it, and it swung gently inward with a soft creak before he pushed it further, stepping inside to reveal a rather large bedroom lit up entirely by the sun.

A great deal of the wall opposite you was windowed save for one solidly walled space in the center, where a bed was clearly meant to go. The windows had been frosted in a way that made them nearly impossible to see through from the outside, and you couldn't help but ogle at how clear they were from where you stood in spite of that.

You gave yourself a few more moments to appreciate the view of the street some fifteen to twenty feet below before you allowed the owner to guide you in the direction of the en suite bathroom, which to your surprise, was a lot less dated than the other one.

In this bathroom, rather than another standing shower, there was a claw-foot tub, which was as pristine of a white as the ceramic tiles beneath it. In addition to this, all of the metal that you could see was brass, from the claws of the tub to the faucets and even the radiator in the corner.

"This bathroom was touched up during the renovations too, the interior design guy said it would help bring the value up after everything that happened."

The landlord had explained, letting you look for a few seconds longer before you both started to make your way back out into the living area/kitchen and toward the front door.

The next time either of you spoke up again, you were standing out in the hallway just beyond the front door to the apartment.

“So, what do you think?” The man had asked, wasting no time in cutting right to the chase as he looked pointedly at his watch.

"It’s nice. Would it be alright for me to leave my renters application with you, or do you have somewhere else I should drop it off?" You asked, pulling out a manila folder from your purse as you spoke.

Something about the apartment, even in spite of its frankly terrifying past, just felt right to you.

It felt like home.

(Or, at least, more like home than the place you’d been living for the past several years).

The owner seemed surprised at your question, faltering for a few moments before he gave a polite nod and reached out to take the folder, offering you a slight smile as he began walking you to the elevator.

"Thank you for coming, I'll be in touch soon regarding your potential tenancy."

And that was it.

Or rather, it would have been it if not for the woman who stepped onto the landing of the stairway right across from the elevator door.

There wasn’t much about her that would have caught your eye, save for the way that she faltered when she saw you and the landlord standing there, pausing in her journey to the floor above your own.

Two little girls held on to each of her hands, blinking up in obvious confusion regarding the reason for their sudden halt.

The woman seemed to look back and forth between both you and the landlord several times, her gaze occasionally darting further down the hall in the direction you had just come from.

In the end, it was Mr. Ishida who broke the less than comfortable silence.

“Perfect timing.” He intoned, “I was just about to broach the subject of fellow tenants and noise complaints.”

The woman standing on the stairs rolled her eyes in reply, and you watched the way her hands tightened ever so slightly around those of the girls standing on either side of her.

However, if you had been expecting her to comment on the man’s statement, you were swiftly let down.

“You’re showing the apartment already?” She asked instead, a twinge of something that you almost wanted to define as anger evident in her tone.

If the landlord heard it, however, he certainly didn’t seem to care.

“I am. This is Ms. L/N, one of the potential tenants looking to move in on the first.”

He glanced toward you then, being sure to catch your eye before gesturing loosely toward the woman with a single hand,

“Ms. L/N, This is your would-be upstairs neighbor, Ms.-”

“Call me Itako.” The woman interrupted before the man could finish, remaining precisely where she had stopped upon the landing as she spoke. Her gaze was trained on you.

“All my friends do. And everyone else really.”

The man standing beside you seemed to bristle a bit at her impoliteness, but didn’t bother remarking on it.

Instead, he chose to carry on, a less than subtle edge that hadn’t been there before now evident in his tone.

“Yes, well, as I was saying— this woman here would be your upstairs neighbor should we approve your application.”

You watched as his eyes fell to the young girls at her side, narrowing ever so slightly,

“The children aren’t hers, but they are over quite often if the noise complaints I’ve received from other tenants are any indication. If you do end up moving in and should find yourself having any trouble, you can file a complaint with my wife at the number that would be provided on your lease.”

The woman standing before you— Itako— just nodded subtly in response, a look in her eye that told you she didn’t care very much about having been made an example of.

“The girls are good, but they’re only seven. Feel free to knock if you ever need us to shut up. We don’t bite.”

Her gaze shifted toward the door to the empty apartment you’d just toured before moving quickly back to the landlord.

“Did you look into that sound I told you about? The thumping?”

She asked, pausing briefly once in the middle of her questioning to mumble something softly to the girl on her left, who seemed to be growing antsy at the lack of entertainment to be found in an almost empty stairway.

Mr. Ishida just nodded, shifting the manila folder you’d handed him so it was wedged beneath his arm, allowing him to cross both in front of him, “I did. The electrician and the heating company that manages the radiators both said nothing was amiss, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

And while the man standing beside you spoke as if what he was saying was good news, the woman looked more than a little concerned; her eyes shifting once more to the door down at the end of the hall before they moved to the girls at her sides and remained there, brows furrowed and mouth tight at the corners.

“I see. Thank you for checking.”

She nudged the girls gently then, allowing the more eager of the two to all but drag her and what you assumed to be her sister up the next set of stairs. Still, as she went, her gaze found yours one final time as she offered a polite nod,

“It was nice meeting you. Good luck.”

And with that, she was gone— the stairs creaking above you serving as the only indication that she and the girls had ever even been there at all, until finally, even that faded into silence.

You had left shortly thereafter, trying not to think too hard about the strange interaction you’d had in the hallway as you began the lengthy journey back to the apartment you’d shared with your ex.

And soon enough, in the haze of packing and avoiding your less than friendly “roommate”, the awkward encounter was forgotten about entirely.

Three days later, the owner had called you with the good news, and told you that all he needed was a down payment and the first month's rent before you could basically move in whenever you pleased.

And now, here you were, two weeks post apartment tour, standing in the kitchen of your new place and checking the cabinets for any evidence of Satoru Gojo’s existence, as if he had moved out himself and potentially left something behind in the process.

You paused to consider that— wondering briefly whose job it was to move someone's things out in the event of their untimely demise— when suddenly, a vague blur of movement in your periphery caught your attention, and you turned to the right toward the living room and the hallway that connected to it.

There was nothing there.

Even still, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise, as if you were subconsciously aware of something you couldn’t quite see, but could almost feel the presence of…

As quietly as possible, you shut the cabinet door, taking a few small steps into the living area, scanning your surroundings all the while.

It was only a few seconds later, as you breached the divide between kitchen and living room— marked only by the shift from linoleum to wood— that you heard a sharp creaking sound from the direction of the hallway, which was to your left.

Heart pounding as you tried to make sense of what was going on, you swallowed thickly as you began to make your way closer to whatever the source of that sound was, halting entirely when you finally realized with a start where it had come from.

It was the first room to the right of you, the only room to the right of you in fact, and if your landlord had been telling the truth, it was also the room where the previous tenant had been murdered.

Cursing under your breath at the dread that was pooling deep in the pit of your belly, you forced yourself to move forward despite how terribly you wanted to pretend as if you'd never heard anything at all.

You peeked your head around the doorway slowly as you came upon it, fighting back a literal sigh of relief when you found it empty.

Still, the urge to know what had made that noise in the first place drove you forward, taking slow and cautious steps into the spare bedroom, eyes darting about the small space.

It was then you noticed that the window— the one next to the sitting sill— was open, swinging outward on its hinges and blowing gently in the wind.

Slowly and with a great deal of hesitance, you approached it, reaching for the cool metal handle and pulling it back in before latching it shut, noting with vague confusion the way that the metal pin slid firmly into the hook, leading you to wonder how it had managed to come undone in the first place…

Had Mr. Ishida opened it up earlier that morning? And if so, what had you heard a minute or so prior if not the sound of the hinge creaking with use?

You forced yourself to shrug off your own questions, reaching over to make sure the latch was firmly secured— only to notice a speck of red spattered on the windowsill.

You tilted your head curiously at the sight of it, leaning forward with squinted eyes in an attempt to get a better look. Hesitantly, you reached forward, running your thumb over the mark and taking note of the way it was slightly raised, like a drop of new paint sitting atop old lacquer.

You swallowed, not wanting to admit to yourself what the substance probably was, yet unable to stop your mind from wandering back to what had happened.

Had he been afraid? Did he know he was going to die before he did? Had the killer surprised him? How long had it taken before someone had noticed that he wasn’t leaving his apartment anymore?

You pondered these questions morbidly despite your best efforts to stop yourself, eyes fixated on that stain, until the feeling of a warm hand on your shoulder caused you to let out a rather unattractive yelp before you fell into the side of the seated window sill.

Standing there looking unamused and very nearly irritated (as was his default) was Ryomen “Sukuna” Itadori, your older step-brother (although it was rare you referred to him as such, opting instead to exclude “step” from his title after so many years of siblinghood).

"You left the building doors open, so I figured you wanted me to come up."

He explained gruffly, wide arms crossing over his chest as he turned his attention to the window, looking out of it as if searching for whatever had previously enraptured you so.

After seemingly coming up with nothing, he continued, red eyes finding yours and sternly holding your gaze,

"You good?"

Slowly, and with a bit of effort, you began to nod in the affirmative, forcing a smile until you yourself started to believe it and stood to face your brother with a somewhat nervous chuckle.

"Yeah.” You began, clearing your throat to rid your voice of the shakiness you could hear within it. “Yeah, I’m good, just freaked myself out is all. New house, new sounds, kinda thing."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow but didn't question you further, though he was no doubt thinking what you weren't willing to say— that someone had died in the place you now called home, and that the creepy feeling may not have had as much to do with sound as you were hoping it did.

Not quite prepared for that conversation at the moment, you clapped the tattooed giant on the shoulder as you walked past him, propping your apartment door open even further once you reached it.

"Come on Ryo, let's see how much furniture we can get up here before everyone else arrives. I bet Yuki twenty bucks that we could get the couch inside just fine without her haughty ass here to help."

Your older brother rolled his eyes at the mention of your constantly overzealous friend, but followed you over to the door regardless, exiting without hesitation even as you lingered for just a few more moments, watching curiously as a shadow seemed to briefly creep out from the doorway of the spare bedroom before disappearing entirely— as if someone had been standing in front of the window in there only to suddenly vanish into thin air.

"Hey shithead, are you gonna come help me, or are we trying to increase the size of Yuki's monster ego?"

Your curiosity regarding the situation at hand disappeared almost immediately, replaced by your perhaps too competitive spirit, which had you following Sukuna down the stairs and toward the moving truck without a second thought.

. . .

“Oh, and get this! When I asked the guy if he wanted a cigarette, he said yes at first, but then got all pissy when I pulled out a pack of Marlboros and asked if I had any Seven Stars instead! Can you believe that?!”

As the familiar sound of Yuki’s rambling filled your sparsely decorated living room, you and Choso made eye contact from where you each sat on either side of your coffee table— before promptly devolving into quiet laughter.

Leave it to Yuki to always find something to rant about, even during completely unrelated hangouts.

“I don’t blame ‘im.”

Sukuna grumbled from where he was sitting to your left, picking away at some of the black nail polish on one of his thumbs,

“No clue how you smoke that American junk. The filters on those things are complete shit, there’s nothing smooth about ‘em.”

Yuki shrugged,

“I like how they feel, plus I only smoke socially. ‘S not like I’m trying to form a habit like some people.” She mocked, tossing a purposeful look to your brother even as he rolled his eyes and flipped her off in return, the reminder of his bad habit already drawing him to stand, his hand in the left pocket of his hoodie where you knew he kept his pack of cigarettes and the lighter you’d bought him for Christmas four years prior.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He grumbled, making his way over to the glass doors that made up the entrance to your porch and opening one before he leaned against the edge of the other and brought the bundle of tobacco, paper, and god knows what chemicals to his lips, lighting it soon after before holding the thing outside so the smoke didn’t flow indoors.

Across from you, Ijichi’s nose wrinkled at the faint smell of cigarette smoke, and you chuckled to yourself as Nitta rolled her eyes at his sensitivity from where she was seated beside him.

“You know, Kiyotaka, I have no clue how you work as a driver for one of the wealthiest families in the country while having an aversion to the smell of cigarettes.” She teased, causing the man to flush all the way up to his ears and cough awkwardly into his fist.

“The partition does a pretty good job of filtering things out.” He mumbled, shrugging his lanky shoulders as he spoke, “And the people who sign my checks tend to be more bearable if they have things like that available to them.”

You bit back a grimace, nodding in agreement as you reached behind you for the bottle of wine that sat just beyond the edge of the rug you’d spread out in the center of your living room earlier that evening.

Currently, all but two of you were sitting on the floor and forming a circle around your coffee table, which was surrounded by a mismatched yet charming set of furniture and sat atop a decorative rug. Not too far behind you was a couch (a gift from Sukuna), several feet to your left a loveseat, and then equidistant from the couch in the opposite direction, a chair, which Yuki was currently draped across, legs dangling over the armrest.

“You could say that again.” You muttered mostly to yourself, knowing all too well just how irate certain members of the family Ijichi worked for could become if they didn’t have immediate access to whatever it was that they wanted at any given moment.

After all, you’d dated one of them for three whole years.

Trying not to think too hard about that fact, you held up the bottle of wine to your friends, swirling it back and forth inside its glass receptacle.

"Anyone else need a refill?” You asked, moving a bit closer to your coffee table to pour some of the overly sweet pink moscato (your brother’s favorite, even if he would never admit it) into your nearly empty glass.

Sheepishly, Ijichi pushed his own cup (a mug, punishment for the time a year and a half ago where he’d been the cause of three broken wine glasses in one month) closer, and wordlessly, Uraume, who had rather characteristically remained silent throughout the discussion of vices, did the same.

You filled both of their glasses before splitting the remainder between Sukuna and Yuki, who would no doubt have ended up fighting for it otherwise once one of them noticed that the second and final bottle of the night was dwindling.

A comfortable silence filled the room for several long moments, the only sounds being that of Ijichi’s quiet sipping from his mug (the words ‘Mug Jail’ appropriately emblazoned on the side), and Sukuna’s final deep inhale off his cigarette before he crushed out the embers and carelessly shoved it into his pocket.

You took your own sip of wine alongside Ijichi before breaking the silence,

"Thanks again for being here today you guys, it really does mean a lot.”

And even though it was probably the fifth or sixth time you’d said so, it still didn’t feel like enough.

You drew in a deep and slightly shaky breath before continuing,

"When Naoya and I broke up, I wasn't sure what was gonna come next for me. I had nowhere to go but the shittiest spare bedroom he had to offer for a price that basically had me trapped for two whole months before I found this place.”

Sukuna scowled at that, stepping fully inside and shutting the night out before he made his way back over to the coffee table, the joints in his knees popping as he lowered himself to sit beside you once more.

“Shoulda told me sooner that you were willing to move away from Kyoto.” He grumbled, reaching for his glass, “I woulda let you crash at my place until you found something else.”

All around the table, people nodded in agreement (save for Ijichi, who, of course, would have gladly let you stay with him if not for the fact that he literally worked for your ex’s family and would have likely had a lot to answer for if they found out about it).

“Totally,” Yuki drawled from the chair, sitting up slightly to actually look at you as she spoke, “My place is big as hell too, I could’ve given you your own bathroom and everything…”

She trailed off at that, pouting for a few moments before she seemed to brighten up, shooting you one of her trademark winks,

“Still could. Offers always open, babe.”

You opened your mouth to assure her that you were all set (for what was probably the one millionth time that month alone), only to find yourself being cut off by a quiet voice that you knew abundantly well.

“It’s true.” Uraume noted, their eyes meeting yours from where they were sitting beside Choso,

“Choso and I even talked about buying a futon so you could stay with us if you needed to.”

From beside them, your pigtail wearing friend nodded,

“We always did say we’d get a place together after Uraume and I were done with college.”

He reminded you, lips curved upward in that ceaselessly kind smile that you’d been thanking your lucky stars for since childhood, when the three of you had all become fast friends due to living on the same street.

You laughed off the feeling of fullness that was forming in the back of your throat, hoping that no one would call out the way that your eyes were beginning to grow teary.

“Yeah well,” You mumbled, “It was sort of embarrassing, you know? I introduced every one of you except for Kiyotaka to this asswipe, wasted over three miserable years with him where he made me do nearly all of the housework and treated me like an idiot— and then when I finally came to my senses and dumped him, I couldn’t even move out.”

You scoffed at yourself, unable to meet anyone’s gaze as you continued,

“I didn’t want to admit that staying there for so damn long even after we split up wasn’t really a choice on my part. I tried to convince myself that it was, and for a while that worked, but by the time I came to terms with how I really felt, I’d already been staying in that stupid spare room of his for a month, and I felt like such an idiot for letting myself live in that situation that I didn’t want to explain it to anyone out loud.”

From where she was sitting across from you, Nitta frowned, reaching over the table to rest her hand atop of your own.

“Naoya’s a spoiled little prick, and there wasn’t one second of your relationship where he deserved you.”

Sukuna gave a grunt of agreement, gently nudging your leg with his own in a quiet show of support as he drank from his glass once more.

After letting her words sink in for a few seconds, Nitta continued,

“Any one of us would have been happy to help you get out of there no matter what situation you were in, because to be honest, having to see that freak every single time we wanted to hang out with you felt like capital punishment.”

You laughed at that, tears spilling down your cheeks as the sound burst forth past your lips.

Sitting in the living room of your new place with six of your closest friends, it all felt sort of surreal.

Here was Sukuna, who had known you since before you could walk— your brother not by blood but by something else entirely, something deeper and far less fickle than that.

Here were Choso and Uraume, who you’d met all the way back in your preschool days after your mothers had become fast friends during a pool party that Uraume’s parents had thrown.

Here was Nitta, who you’d met in middle school after her delinquency at a local private institution had gotten her kicked out and enrolled at your public school instead.

Here was Yuki, who you’d met on one of the worst days of your life back when you were eighteen, sitting on the steps of the hospital that your mother had just been pronounced dead in, unable to contact your long estranged step-father, and waiting for someone to get there and tell you that it would somehow all be okay. She’d sat with you for almost two hours until Jin’s incredibly boring SUV had peeled into the parking lot and both of your brothers had rushed to your side, one slightly slower than the other due to the pink haired kindergartener he’d been helping out of the back seat.

And here was Ijichi, who you’d met a little over three years ago during your very first date with Naoya Zenin, when you and him had talked for over an hour about your favorite movies after the same man who had asked you out in the first place had ended up leaving you to wait in the car while he talked at length with his father about something pertaining to his grades.

You were free of the stuffy men in suits who would come by the place you’d once called home, of the distasteful looks thrown your way during Zenin family gatherings, of the asshole who had never been taught how to cook or clean for himself— you were free of it all and finally had your own place once more, the people at your side now a testament to how full life could feel when you weren’t being suffocated by a man with an ego about the same size as his enormous head.

At the sight of your tears, Choso frowned from where he was sitting on the other side of the table, tone soft yet tinged with a subtle frustration as he spoke up,

"Honestly, I think we all feel lucky that you even want to keep us around after most of us chose not to say anything for so long. Zenin was absent, and took you for granted constantly— if I could go back in time and warn you sooner, I would."

Seeing how truly apologetic your friend clearly felt, you were quick to shake your head, reaching across the table with your free hand to squeeze one of his own.

"I had to do it on my own." You assured him.

"There wasn't anything you could've said. I was completely in denial about how little he cared for me until the very end, and even then it wasn't until after the breakup that I learned how easily he could turn on someone that he used to claim to love..."

You trailed off as you looked over to the cat bed in the corner of the living room beside the glass doors.

There was a cat bed in every room, even the spare bedroom in spite of how much it creeped you out— just in case Naoya ever let you bring your best friend home instead of keeping her trapped with him.

Nitta, having noticed where your gaze had fallen, piped up,

"We're going to get Kaiya back." She promised.

Immediately Sukuna nodded, “Damn right we are.”

His hands clenched into fists as he continued, and you found yourself grateful for the fact that he was no longer holding a wine glass,

“If you’d told me he wasn’t letting you take her while we were still over at his place, I would have punched the little freak’s lights out. If he doesn’t come to his senses soon, then maybe a trip to the hospital will help him with that.”

He cracked his knuckles as if to emphasize his statement, and immediately you reached over to put a hand upon his shoulder.

“Chill out, Ryo. I’d prefer to keep you out of prison, if possible.”

Your brother scowled in response to your teasing comment, shooting you a glare that held no real heat behind it.

"Kaiya is your cat— you had her for three years before you and that shithead even started dating. The only way he’s keeping her is if I end up in a casket."

You nodded in response, taking a deep breath before letting the stress of the day go to the best of your ability, wanting to spend these next few hours having fun with your friends again for the first time since your breakup had halted most hangouts.

There was silence for a few moments before Yuki spoke up,

"Okay so where did we end up putting the party games in this joint? Because I am so ready to kick Uraume's ass at Cards Against Humanity tonight."

You laughed at that, raising a brow at the aforementioned reigning champ, who simply shrugged, a subtle grin tugging at the corners of their lips.

. . .

By the time everyone was leaving, it was 1:30 am, and the group was thoroughly exhausted after the long day of moving and unpacking.

"Thanks again for coming guys."You yawned out as you held the door open, matching their smiles as they left for the evening. "Come back soon, okay?"

Everyone vocalized their agreement, promising to plan out another game night soon before they all walked down the hallway.

Heading out onto the balcony, you shivered at the chilly fall air, but watched nonetheless as everyone got into their respective vehicles.

Choso (one of two designated drivers for that evening) got into the moving truck that Sukuna had rented, ushering his roommate and your brother, who lived across the hall from them, into what would no doubt be a crowded cab. Meanwhile, Yuki, Ijichi, and Nitta piled into Yuki’s sleek black convertible (which would be in dire need of a roof reattachment soon if the weather was any indication) with Nitta in the driver’s seat.

Everyone beeped their horns at you as they drove off in the same direction, heading deeper into the city where they all lived (or, in Ijichi’s case, would be staying for the night).

It was only once everyone was gone, the warm smog from their cars’ exhaust pipes rising up and becoming as invisible as their fading taillights, that you stepped back inside and closed the balcony doors tight behind you.

It was time for your least favorite part of hosting a gathering— the aftermath.

Walking into the kitchen, you made quick work of boxing up the leftover pizza that Nitta had insisted you deserved, scoffing when you opened the fridge to set it inside and noticed four of your brother’s favorite beers sitting inside the door.

At your very first apartment, he had done the same thing, wordlessly inserting evidence of himself into your home as if it might bring one of you (namely him) comfort to know it was there.

Still, the only two things in your fridge being pizza and beer on night one wasn’t exactly a classy look (not that anything about living in an apartment that someone had been murdered in screamed classy).

Rolling your eyes at your older sibling’s antics, you stepped back from the refrigerator, allowing the door to swing shut on its own as you turned your attention to the sink.

You were already finding yourself grateful for the fact that Nitta had thought to bring paper plates and plastic utensils for everyone there on your first night, because all that awaited you within the stainless steel basin were a few used wine glasses, some regular cups, and, of course, Ijichi’s wine mug.

Washing and drying those was a simple task, robotic and habitual in a way that was almost soothing.

Maybe it was just the feeling of being free from the man who had obnoxiously depended on you without even a shred of respect in return, or perhaps just the fact that you were finally in your own space again, but even something so mundane as doing the dishes seemed to fly by in your new place.

Soon enough, you found yourself turning off the faucet, drying cloth returned to its designated spot before you opened up the cabinet you’d decided earlier in the day would be for cups.

One mug, two regular glasses, and 4 wine glasses later, you were reaching up to return the final wine glass to its rightful place in the cupboard when you were suddenly shaken by that same sharp sound from earlier, creaking out high and clear in your otherwise soundless apartment.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the unexpected sound, letting out a (admittedly pretty embarrassing) shriek of fear as the glass you’d been holding tumbled out of your grasp and crashed off the edge of the counter, spraying glass everywhere.

You pressed your hand against your chest, eyes squeezed shut for several long moments as you fought to catch your breath.

And when you finally did open them, the sight that greeted you was far from pleasant.

Glass littered your kitchen, scattered across your countertops and even your stove, glinting in a deceptively pretty manner beneath the low yellow light of the room.

Sighing, you set out to find where Uraume had put your miniature hand broom and dust pan set after having used both earlier in the evening.

Thankfully enough, this venture didn’t take too long, and you found both nestled together and hanging on a hook inside your pantry.

For the next fifteen minutes, you worked carefully to sweep glass from your countertops, stove, and floor, silently thanking whatever god might be watching that you had already put the pizza away, lowering your chances of accidentally eating glass for breakfast the following morning.

And yet, once the cleanup effort appeared to be behind you, the glass shards you’d swept up discarded in the garbage to become a problem for future you, it still somehow wasn’t quite time for you to finally settle in.

No, because the chill spreading throughout your home was far too uncomfortable to ignore, and you had a distinct feeling that you knew exactly where it was coming from.

The spare bedroom window.

Cursing under your breath, you flicked on the hallway light switch before making your way toward the room in question— except when you finally did get there and attempted to turn on that light as well, you found that it no longer worked.

"Seriously?" You muttered under your breath, your feigned annoyance little more than a disguise for the fear you felt rapidly quickening the pace of your heart.

Still, the late fall chill demanded your attention as it poured in through what you could now confirm was a very open window, urging you onward despite your increasing discomfort.

Moving ever closer to that wide pane of glass as it shifted slightly upon its hinges in a thankfully gentle breeze, you shuddered at what you told yourself was the cold— your knee finding the plush fabric of the pillow that graced the benched window seat as you reached outward to pull the open window shut once more.

You secured the latch as firmly as you could manage before standing up, finding relief in the forgone feeling of autumn wind in your hair— delicate as it may have been.

That said, the absence of the chill you’d been enduring previously did little to ease the shiver that raced down your spine.

It almost felt like someone was watching you as you stood all alone in that cold room, the inky nature of the darkness seeming to deepen the longer that you took it all in, as if your eyes were adjusting in reverse.

Your mind screamed at you to flee no matter how ridiculous it may have been to consider doing so in your own home— the urge to leave well enough alone causing your fingertips to twitch as if your body could scarcely wait to make a hasty exit.

And yet, stubborn as that fearful little primate part of your brain was, you couldn’t bring yourself to give in. Three years of discomfort in your last home had been plenty.

So, even though you couldn’t quite bring yourself to actually believe that someone was there in some shadowed corner of the room, you spoke up anyway.

"Look, if this is the guy who died here, I'm going to have to ask you to quit it with the window opening. It's cold as hell outside, and I don't want to pay extra for heat just because you want to play a game of unlatch the window."

At that, you began walking toward the open doorway, pausing once to add,

"And if you absolutely have to open it, don't do it at night. I almost pissed myself."

And with that said and done, you made your way to the bedroom, where, despite your brave words and the knowledge that there was almost certainly no ghost in your apartment, you immediately locked the door behind you.

Heart still hammering a bit from the previous scare, you were quiet as you got ready for bed, brushing your teeth and changing into a familiar set of pajamas as quickly as possible, all too ready to put the day behind you in hopes that it had somehow all been a fluke, and that the mysteriously opening window and the shadow from earlier on in the day had some obvious explanation that only a good night's rest could provide you.

But if that was the case, you weren't about to get it.

Fruitlessly, you tossed and turned about all night, falling into bout after bout of fitful sleep as nightmares plagued your ailing mind.

The sound of tires screeching on pavement, a cat yowling somewhere distant, familiar voices calling your name, and persistent sobbing all flitted throughout your thoughts, until finally, you shot upright in bed for the final time at 7:08am on a Wednesday morning.

Groaning as you got up, eyes still bleary with sleep and wounded by pervasive sunlight, you made a beeline for the bedroom door, opening it before immediately walking into the far dimmer hallway, which was lit solely by the windows lining your bedroom wall, and the windows lining the balcony door in the living room, both of which allowed light to pour in from either end.

If you had been more awake, you might have noticed that the door to your bedroom was no longer locked— but with your mind still so groggy with restless sleep, you didn't think anything of it, and instead went to grab the only thing you could for breakfast: a cold piece of pizza.

Sighing, you opened your dishware cabinet, fighting back another groan when you noticed how high up and far back Yuki had placed your plates.

That girl really didn't have a mean bone in her body (well, at least not where you were concerned), but she definitely wasn't the most cognizant of others' personal struggles.

Like how you could in no way reach those plates without a boost.

Grumbling to yourself about how it was way too early for this shit, you placed both hands firmly on the counter to hoist yourself up, only to hiss in pain as you yanked your left hand away as if you’d thrust it upon fiery hot coals.

"Motherfucker!"

You shouted, turning your palm upward only to be met with a gruesome sight.

There, lodged in the center of your hand, was a piece of glass about the size of your pinky nail— and it hurt like a bitch.

Not bothering to ruminate over how you could have possibly missed a piece of glass that big while cleaning up the night before, you rushed to the bathroom in the hallway, yanking open the mirrored cabinet to find your bandages and a set of tweezers that you were almost certain Nitta had left upon realizing you didn't have any yesterday, because of course she carried tweezers around with her in case of emergencies.

Yanking the two supplies out of the medicine cabinet, you briefly let your eyes search for anything else you might need, noting the peroxide and alcohol wipes sitting toward the end of the middle row.

I cleaned this cup right before I broke it, there's no reason it should be dirty.

Your injured brain insisted, and you quickly moved to close the cabinet door, having decided that you wanted this to be over with far too badly to bother properly tending to your wound.

But then,

"Yeah you're gonna wanna clean that."

You startled slightly as a voice you had never heard before spoke from what sounded like the left of you— though a quick glance in that direction yielded nothing of note.

What the fuck was going on? Had the stress of moving finally caused you to lose your mind?

You groaned as you grabbed the alcohol wipes and peroxide out of the cabinet as quickly as you could before all but slamming the mirrored door shut. You then lined everything up on the counter, sat yourself down on the closed toilet lid, and got to work.

"Shit."

You muttered to yourself as you began attempting to use the tweezers to pull the glass shard out of your hand, the pain causing your fingers to shake as you wiggled at the piece to dislodge it, brain clouded by pain and the surprise of an unexpected injury so early in the morning.

"Jeez, don't twist the thing, just pull it straight out. Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to take a splinter out before?"

There was that voice again, this time from your right, but you didn't even bother to look over this time, firmly believing that it was all in your head, some sort of coping mechanism for the pain that was radiating throughout your injured palm.

You did as the voice said, pulling the piece straight out (albeit a bit unsteadily) before sighing in relief, dropping the glass shard and the pair of tweezers onto the bathroom counter with a soft clatter, smearing the pristine surface with a shade of red that stuck out vibrantly against the white.

Finally finished, you used an alcohol wipe, fighting back tears at the sting of it before forcing yourself to use the peroxide as well just to be safe.

You watched the cut bubble as you poured the liquid onto it, just as you continued to do little by little until the reaction ceased, at which point you were finally able to dry off your hand and apply a bandage to help staunch the bleeding (or at least to make it harder to see, if nothing else).

Sighing, you leaned your head back against the wall, injured hand hanging limp at your side as you tried to catch your breath.

In reality, it had only been a few minutes, but that whole ordeal had felt like it had taken hours, a feeling that was no doubt exacerbated by the poor sleep you’d gotten the night before.

So poor, in fact, that you began to doze off without even realizing, chin falling to your chest as your eyelids fluttered shut…

Until suddenly, you were snapped back into a sense of awareness by a persistent knocking sound.

Drowsily, you looked around the bathroom for the source, only to realize with a start that you weren’t going to find one in there, because the sound was coming from your front door.

Groaning with effort, you heaved your tired body up, and, still donning your pajamas, made your way to the front door, just barely containing the urge to shout to the person beyond it that you were coming and they therefore didn’t have to wake up the whole building with their incessant hammering.

You made quick work of both the deadbolt and the chain lock upon your arrival, swinging the door open with no warning to the person who was still knocking on the other side.

And suddenly, you found yourself wishing that you would’ve thought to check the peephole first.

Because standing in your doorway was Naoya Zenin— your ex boyfriend— with that obnoxiously haughty air about him and a cat carrier in hand.

His eyes gave you a once over before he rolled them about inside his skull, a less than subtle scoff falling past his lips.

“It took you that long to answer the door and you don’t even look presentable?” He asked, wearing that same look of disgust that you’d come to know so well throughout the course of your three-year-long relationship.

“Naoya." You said, trying not to let how shaken up you were at just the sight of him show, “How did you get this address?”

The man in front of you simply rolled his eyes again as if you were an idiot for asking.

“Kamo gave it to me.” He informed you icily, and the way he’d spat out the last name of your best friend made your skin crawl.

Naoya had never liked Choso, not even for one second of your relationship, no matter how many times you’d begged him to actually get to know the man (or literally any of your friends, for that matter).

“The fool took ages to actually give it to me, but relented when I agreed not to just show up unannounced.”

You stared up at your ex blankly, expression wholly unamused.

“So what do you call this then?” You asked, gesturing around yourself as if to emphasize the situation.

The heir to the Zenin family fortune scoffed, and if not for the cat carrier in his hand you were certain he’d be dramatically crossing his arms over his chest in that same way he always had.

“You have me blocked, remember?” He countered, flicking his head to the side to keep his bangs out of his eyes,

“And besides, I couldn’t care less what promises I made to your insipid friend, I’m just here to drop off your ridiculous cat so I can finally be rid of you.”

And with that, he reached out to all but shove the cat carrier into your arms, lips curling upward ever so slightly as he watched you struggle to steady yourself.

Still, that smirk soon faded into a frown as he seemed to recall something,

“Now tell your neanderthal of a step-brother to leave me alone. If he contacts me again, burner phone or no burner phone, I’ll have him arrested and back in prison by the end of the night.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Ryomen has never been in prison, Naoya.” You corrected for what felt like the one millionth time. “But fine. I’ll let him know that you brought Kaiya home. I’m sure he doesn’t have any more desire to deal with you than you do him.”

“Good, because if I have to come back to this disgusting building to inform you of his behavior again, I won’t be so kind as to buzz in— I’ll just contact whatever slumlord owns this place and make sure he knows exactly how troublesome his tenant is when he comes to unlock the door.”

At that, you faltered, mouth going dry.

“Buzz in?” You asked, tone cracking with disbelief.

And in response, Naoya shot you a glare, finally crossing his arms over his chest in that very same way you knew he would.

“Oh please, there’s no need to act more obtuse than you already are.” Your ex bit out through pearly white and perfect teeth, “You know full well that I used that ridiculous buzzer to get inside, you’re the one who let me in.”

Immediately you shot a glance at the device that was mounted to the wall beside your door, which your landlord had explained the workings of over the phone the day before.

Your brow creased in confusion as you wondered how on earth Naoya had gotten into the complex without the help of your landlord if you’d never even known he’d attempted to buzz in at all— much less granted him access.

Still, eager to get the man away from you as expeditiously as possible, you pushed any questions about the odd circumstances from your mind.

After all, you had a cat to worry about.

“Whatever.” You said tersely,

“I’d say thank you for bringing my cat home, but you were literally holding her hostage, so I think I’ll stick with a simple fuck you.”

You could’ve sworn you saw your Naoya’s eye twitch at that, his hands clenching into fists where he had dropped them to his sides.

And there was that look of complete and utter disgust again, back with a vengeance this time.

“I have no idea what I ever saw in you.” The blond spat, immediately turning on his heel to walk away, determined to have the last word just as he had throughout the entirety of your relationship.

Except this time, you didn’t let him.

“Likewise, asshole.”

And before he could even think to retort, you slammed your front door shut, wincing a bit once the rush wore off and mentally apologizing to your poor neighbors.

Still, there was at least one thing to celebrate, and as you rounded the couch you couldn't help but smile at the cat lying down inside of the gray carrier held in front of you.

Setting the heavy plastic on the floor, you opened up the metal door slowly, wanting to let her come out at her own pace— but almost as soon as it was open, your sweet Kaiya was calmly walking out toward the couch, rubbing her brown head against your hands as you knelt down in front of her, beyond relieved to have her home.

After all, you'd had her since she was a three year old stray that the previous tenant of your old rental duplex had been feeding prior to you moving in.

It had started off as you just giving her food, but soon enough you were inviting her inside as well, where she had eventually retired her outdoor cat status in favor of staying with you.

She was a beautiful little lady, even now at eight, which was when most cats tended to grow a little lax with their self grooming. She was entirely chestnut brown in color, with two stunning yellow eyes and an adorable pink nose.

Before Kaiya, you had never seen an all brown cat before, and you could still remember how shocked you'd been to hear she was a stray from your neighbor.

You smiled down at her as you recalled the fond memories of some of your first interactions, lowering your head so she could rub her soft face against yours, easing your mind of any and all troubles almost instantly.

"I missed you so much, sweet girl."

As you spoke, you reached out to pet her— only to falter when she bristled, staring straight past you.

Fighting the urge to turn around for the second time that morning, you ran a hand down her back, smoothing down her slightly raised fur as you spoke.

"It's alright Kaiya, there's nobody else he-"

"Okay, so I'm kind enough to buzz that guy in for you while you incorrectly treat your wounds, and this is how you repay me? By forcing me to live with a cat?"

You shrieked, falling to the side as you turned toward where the voice had come from, only to see an ever so slightly translucent man standing beside your couch with his arms crossed.

"What the— who the hell are you?!"

You shouted, watching as the corner of the man’s lips quirked upward, intensely blue eyes almost seeming to shine with amusement,

"What, you can't guess?"

You shook your head emphatically, hoping that you would wake up from this strange dream soon.

The man sighed in response to your insistence, and raised a brow at you as if you were more than a little dumb for not figuring it out yourself.

"I'm Gojo Satoru. You know, the guy who died here?”

series taglist: @gojoswaterbottle, @izumkay, @travelerth, @rikhotta, @syrsarte