SUPERNOVA SKY || young gods, stripped down to their barest.
you are two-times blessed and four-times cursed; six-times ignored; eight-times revered. because, you know, you're a god and all.
(SECOND PERSON; MALE READER INSERT/IEIRI SHOKO)
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With the end of the goodwill event comes something like an old friend. Boredom aches at your very soul, but you suppose that's on you. Winter is steady in its approach, the snow falls light on your skin, the space between is colder. You used float in nothing, the cold you're only company.
Utahime is coming with you on a mission, her formal clothes switched out for something far more practical, cargo pants and a shirt huddled under the fluffiest coat you've ever had the grace of seeing, she's wearing earmuffs, a scarf, and gloves. Like it's normal— well, it is; you're wearing a fluffy sweater more than anything, the color of the night, and white cotton spills from the hood.
You're both taking the train, which is quite a walk away from the school (which you have to walk—) and she's shivering so much you're almost willing to give up your own sweater, but it's so soft. This reminds yo our before, the snow, everything is cold, it's like you're holy again. Alone. "Nē, I'm bored."
Utahime shudders out, "Shut up."
"Winter always harbors the worse cursed spirits, huh?" You look at the train station, finally in view. "How thrilling."
"Don't be weird." She punches your shoulder. "C'mon. Not getting any younger."
"Suppose you aren't." You grin. "The train's here, hurry up, Utahime."
"Yeah, sure."
_
(Don't cry, someone dies every time you cry, do you know that? Do you know that?)
(Nēsan is the second strongest!)
_
Gojō Satoru finds his way into your mission. You kind of want to punch him, but that's mostly because he has a fairly punchable face. Utahime was right, he is annoying; you make his heart squeeze tight in his chest so his stops talking to cough. You let go of that grip— he laughs. Makes it a laugh. A joke.
It's all a joke to him, you want to take him why that is. What happened for him to loose his milk teeth and grow back thorns. Covered in flowers as they are his hands still burn. The grade-one spirit edges on the corner of your vision—you take it and twist twist twist until it becomes nothing at all.
"That's your cursed technique?" Gojō asks. "What is it?"
"Everyone has a center of gravity." You say. "I just make it stronger."
There's something that tastes like sea water in your mouth. You know that lying isn't a pretty color on you and still you wear it with pride. How pitiful. How human! You could swallow the world like this, push it into itself and watch as it rusts back out; bounces back with twice the force. You are two-times blessed and four-times cursed; six-times ignored; eight-times revered.
