Only you

The corridors of Tokyo Jujutsu High were never truly silent. Even in the dead of night, the school breathed with the hum of ancient barriers and the distant, restless energy of the forest. For Angel, however, the silence was the loudest thing she had ever encountered. It was a heavy, suffocating blanket that pressed against her chest, making every breath feel like she was inhaling lead.

Her depression wasn't a sudden storm; it was a slow tide that had risen until she was perpetually underwater. Her anxiety was the current beneath it, pulling at her ankles, whispering that the shadows in the corner of her eyes were more than just cursed energy. They were her own failures taking shape.

She walked down the wooden hallway, her small frame swallowed by an oversized hoodie. Her straight black hair hung like a curtain around her pale face, shielding her from a world she no longer felt a part of. She stopped in front of a familiar door and hesitated.

Her hand hovered over the wood. She shouldn't be here. Suguru had his own burdens—the "monkeys," the endless cycle of swallowing curses that tasted like rags soaked in vomit, the thinning veil of his own sanity. But as the familiar tightness gripped her throat, she realized she couldn't spend another night alone with her thoughts.

She knocked, the sound barely audible.

A moment later, the door creaked open. Suguru Geto stood there, his dark hair loose and cascading over his shoulders, a stark contrast to the neat top-knot he wore during the day. His eyes were tired, weary in a way that mirrored her own.

"Angel," he said softly, his voice a low rumble that acted like an anchor for her drifting mind.

"I can't sleep," she whispered, her voice cracking. "The noise is back."

Suguru didn't ask what noise she meant. He knew. It wasn't a sound, but a frequency of despair that only those walking the edge of the abyss could hear. He stepped aside, opening the door wider to let her in.

"I know," he replied. "Come in."

The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp that cast long, amber shadows across the floor. It smelled of sandalwood and the faint, metallic tang of jujutsu. Angel moved instinctively toward the bed, sitting on the edge and hugging her knees to her chest. She felt small—frail enough that a strong gust of wind might shatter her.

Suguru closed the door and locked it, a symbolic gesture to keep the rest of the world out. He sat down beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a long time, neither of them spoke. They didn't have to. In the quiet of the dorm room, the masks they wore for Satoru, for Shoko, and for the higher-ups were discarded on the floor like discarded clothes.

"Did you eat today?" Suguru asked, his eyes tracing the sharp line of her jaw.

"A little," she lied.

He sighed, a sound of weary resignation. "We are a pair, aren't we? I can't stop tasting the rot, and you've forgotten how to feel the sun."

Angel looked up at him, her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Does it ever get easier, Suguru? Or do we just get better at carrying the weight?"

Suguru reached out, his long fingers tucking a stray strand of black hair behind her ear. His touch was cool, but it grounded her. "I think the weight stays the same. We just decide who we're going to carry it with."

He moved back, propping his pillows against the wall and gesturing for her to join him. Angel crawled into the space beside him, her head finding the familiar hollow of his shoulder. He pulled the heavy duvet over both of them, creating a cocoon that felt like the only safe place left in Japan.

She curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. It was the only rhythm that made sense to her.

"Tell me something," she murmured, her eyes closing. "Something that isn't about curses or missions."

Suguru shifted, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer. He stared up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable in the dark. "I was thinking about the summer before everything changed. The way the cicadas sounded at dusk. It was annoying then, but now... I miss the simplicity of being annoyed by something so small."

"I remember the blue hydrangeas," Angel said, her voice muffled against his chest. "In the garden behind the dorms. I used to think they were beautiful. Now they just look like bruises on the earth."

Suguru tightened his grip slightly. "Then don't look at the flowers. Look at me."

She tilted her head back to look at him. Even in the shadows, he was striking—the sharp line of his nose, the curve of his ears, the sadness etched into the corners of his mouth. He looked like a fallen god trying to remember how to be human.

"You're tired, Suguru," she whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Your soul is tired."

"And yours is fraying at the edges," he countered softly. He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. "But tonight, we don't have to be sorcerers. We don't have to be the strongest or the protectors. We can just be."

"Just Angel and Suguru," she breathed.

"Just us."

The anxiety that usually clawed at her chest began to recede, replaced by the warmth of his presence. It wasn't a cure—depression was a monster that lived in the marrow of her bones—but Suguru was a sanctuary. When she was with him, the darkness didn't feel like an enemy; it felt like a shared secret.

They lay there in the silence, the boundaries between them blurring. Angel could feel the tension bleeding out of Suguru's muscles. He carried the world on his shoulders, convinced he had to save everyone or destroy everything, but here, in the dark, he was just a young man who was hurting.

"Sometimes I want to run away," Angel confessed, her voice barely a breath. "Just walk until the school is a speck on the horizon and the curses can't find me anymore."

Suguru stayed silent for a long moment. "Where would you go?"

"Somewhere with no shadows. Somewhere where the air doesn't taste like grief."

"If you find that place," Suguru said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, "take me with you. I don't think I can breathe in this air much longer either."

The honesty of his words sent a shiver through her. She knew he was struggling. She saw the way he looked at the non-sorcerers, the way he flinched at the sound of clapping, the way he seemed to be drifting further and further away from the light. She was drowning, and he was walking into a fire, but for this one night, they were treading water together.

She shifted her position, draping her leg over his and burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I'll take you. We'll go to the ocean. The salt will wash everything away."

"The ocean," he repeated, the words sounding like a prayer. "I'd like that."

He began to stroke her hair, a rhythmic, soothing motion that lulled her toward sleep. The intrusive thoughts—the images of blood, the whispers of her own inadequacy—began to fade into the background. They were still there, lurking in the corners of the room, but they couldn't reach her while Suguru held her.

"Sleep, Angel," he whispered. "I've got you."

"Don't let go," she pleaded, her eyes heavy.

"Never."

As the hours ticked toward dawn, the two of them fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It was the only time they were truly free. In the morning, the world would return. Suguru would put on his uniform and his smile of cold indifference. Angel would pull her hoodie up and try to navigate a world that felt too bright and too loud. They would go back to being the broken instruments of a society that didn't know how to fix them.

But for now, there was only the warmth of the duvet, the steady beat of two hearts, and the temporary peace found in the arms of someone who understood that sometimes, surviving the night was the greatest victory of all.

The shadows in the room seemed to soften, losing their jagged edges. The silence was no longer a weight, but a bridge between two souls. In the quiet of the dorm, the girl who couldn't find her wings and the boy who was losing his grace found the only thing that mattered: a reason to breathe until the sun came up.

When the first light of morning finally touched the window, it found them still tangled together, a small island of humanity in a world of monsters. Suguru stirred first, feeling the soft weight of Angel against him. He didn't move, afraid to break the spell. He looked down at her sleeping face, noticing the way the tension had left her brow.

He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, the scent of her shampoo—something floral and sweet—filling his senses. It was a stark contrast to the bitter taste of the curses he had consumed the day before.

"Another day," he whispered to the empty room.

Angel shifted, her eyes fluttering open. For a second, the panic flared in her pupils—the morning realization of her own existence—but then she saw him. She saw the dark eyes watching her with a tenderness he showed no one else.

"You're still here," she said, her voice thick with sleep.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised.

She sat up slowly, the cold air of the room hitting her skin, making her miss his warmth instantly. She looked at her hands, then at him. The heaviness was returning, the familiar gray fog of her depression rolling back in with the daylight, but it felt manageable.

"We have to go soon," she murmured, looking at the door.

Suguru nodded, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He reached back, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. "Just a few more minutes. The world can wait five more minutes."

Angel leaned her forehead against his shoulder, closing her eyes. "Thank you, Suguru."

"Don't thank me," he said, his voice turning somber. "You're the only thing that makes this place bearable."

They sat there in the pale morning light, two children forced to be soldiers, two hearts trying to beat in sync with a world that was out of rhythm. They knew the peace wouldn't last. They knew the battles—both internal and external—were waiting for them outside that door.

But as Angel stood up and smoothed her hair, she felt a tiny spark of something she hadn't felt in weeks. It wasn't happiness—that was still too far away—but it was strength.

She looked at Suguru as he tied his hair back, returning to the role he played for everyone else. He caught her gaze and gave her a small, private nod. It was a silent pact. They would face the day, they would swallow the bile and the sadness, and when the sun went down and the shadows returned, they would find their way back to this room.

They would find their way back to each other.

Angel walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. She looked back one last time. Suguru was standing by the window, the light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked lonely, even with her there.

"Tonight?" she asked.

Suguru turned, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Tonight. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Angel nodded, slipped out into the hallway, and pulled her hood up. The weight was back, the anxiety was humming, and the world was just as dark as it had been yesterday. But as she walked toward the training grounds, she held the memory of his heartbeat in the palm of her hand, and for the first time in a long time, the silence didn't feel quite so loud.