Your mom had mentioned an exchange year in Japan for your 10th grade—1st year, as they called it over there. You jumped on the idea like it was a lifeline. Honestly, anything sounded better than staying where you were.

One rushed year of Japanese later (thank you, Duolingo owl), you were packed, flown halfway across the world, and dropped into a host family who smiled kindly even when you butchered their language. That would’ve been enough change on its own—but no.

Then came the monsters.

Turns out you weren’t hallucinating all those things you’d chalked up to stress or bad sleep. Nope. Jujutsu was real. Curses were real. You? Shoved into a dorm and told, “Welcome to Tokyo Jujutsu High.”

So much had already happened before you’d even arrived.

Now, you sat outside with the first-years, the sun warm and lazy on the back of your neck. Nobara was hanging off Yuji, teasing him about something you couldn’t quite catch—maybe your Japanese wasn’t there yet, or maybe her speed was just illegal.

You and Megumi sat a bit off to the side, exchanging short, soft English phrases. Gojo had apparently forced him to learn it, and weirdly? He wasn’t half bad. Lunch was quiet. You were sharing, mostly because you still kept forgetting to feed yourself between stress spirals and surviving cursed energy.

Megumi reached over, calm as ever, and gently brushed his thumb against the corner of your mouth.

You blinked.

He didn't say anything, just brought his thumb to his lips and licked the bit of food off like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like your brain wasn’t short-circuiting. Like that wasn’t weirdly intimate for a Tuesday.

You stared at him.

He didn’t even look up. Just kept chewing.