Ghost || Jujutsu Kaisen

『 1: Pooped out spirit 』

It must be nice, huh?

Melodies of the early spring breeze echoed throughout the fields of the institute, swaying the trees to the rhythm that it carried along. Domed by an endless blue sky, flowers of all colors bloomed for the welkin to shine upon. Grey clouds drifted amidst the ether, blotting all that lay within its path with shadows that differed in shape and size. Magenta irises reflected all the hues the heavens had to offer, light that had traversed the bowels and lengths of the cosmos reached the ends of its journey when they drowned in the depths of his gaze.

It must be nice to say what you want to say...

The boy's legs stretched out to the grassy lands, hands that were firmly planted behind his back, retreated to his sides. A breathy sigh escaped his covered lips, eyelids slowly meeting one another as his body descended to lay on the fields below him.

... without holding back.

Stillness blanketed his surroundings, only the songs of birds and rustling of greenery filling the atmosphere. It felt so long ago... that the sun's embrace was this mellow. The sensation was akin to receiving a hug from someone in the bleakness of winter: loving, comforting... warm. It was just how he remembered it would feel like.

"No, it's not."

Walking between the borders of dreams and reality, the Sorcerer's dazed figure snapped back to the present: eyes darting back and forth, left and right, desperately trying to search for the voice that rattled his solitude—yet all that stared back at his frantic eyes were the rosy-colored leaves descending from the Sakura trees bordering the school from the rest of the world, and the swaying branches of the willow tree that fell like curtains around him. As far as he was informed, the students (which weren't even that many in the first place) all had activities and tasks of their own to accomplish, whether that venture was within school grounds or somewhere far away, he did not bother to know.

The Sorcerer wanted to brush it off, conclude that it was only his mind tricking him into hearing something... someone all because the little cage he called his heart could not contain that unbearable emptiness nesting within it. How pathetic, he thought, closing his eyes once more.

It's called a curse for a reason, you know. It's not meant to give you happiness.

That impression of his ability was halfway planted into his soul, made alive by years of forsakenness—soon to join the garden of flowering self-hatred and blame for actions he had no control of. Almost.

But the same voice spoke once more, "Up here," liberating him from the restraints the world had attempted to put on him. His fiery lavender gaze rose from the figure's dangling feet, like fireworks on New Year's Eve: painting the sky with their trails of fire, leading up to the heavens for it to burst into multitudes of colors; lighting up the darkened sky even if it was just for a fleeting moment... the same was for Inumaki.

His multitude of colors exploded at the sight of her: framed by threads of (h/c) were eyes, dark as the depths of the sea yet glimmered as if a hundred thousand galaxies were treasured deep within them, arms that were so clear it put every snowflake that ever descended from the heavens to complete and utter shame. Smile so dazzling that it would be a crime to label anything else to be brighter than it was. Such was the person standing on top of... the nose of Masamichi Yaga's statue.

The unfamiliar uniform adorning her fading figure swayed to the continuous melody of the dancing zephyr. Her bare feet met the grassy terrain below her, one hand landing firmly on her hip and the other pointing an accusing finger at the terrified Sorcerer in front of her. "You might think it's nice to be able to say things without holding back..." she took slow and careful steps towards the ashen-haired Sorcerer, "but words hurt more than getting stabbed to death with a fork!"