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Kugisaki Nobara has killed her husband. At least, she's killed the man commonly believed to be her husband. Mai has never been entirely sure of the true nature of their relationship, or if there ever was a real man to kiss, marry, kill - there was a theoretical wedding, but no one Mai knows had been invited to it, least of all her, and no one has ever so much as seen Nobara with a “medium-height, older man with a nice jawline, salt and pepper hair, and a wallet that enters a room before he does.” Mai is far from the only skeptical observer of Nobara’s happily ever after, but she hardly has a leg to stand on when voicing her concerns.
“You keep talking shit,” Momo said once with a casual, yet painful lilt while they were taking a coffee break after their morning run. It was as if she was bored of explaining Mai’s shortcomings over and over again to anyone who would listen. “That’s why none of us were invited to the ceremony.” Reception. No one cared about the ceremony.
(Well, almost no one.)
“Who said I wanted to go in the first place?” Defensiveness is Mai’s superpower, and she has always hated how Momo so frequently sees through it. Either that, or Mai is just very bad at everything she thinks she has a knack for.
Momo’s hair shined gold in the sunlight beaming through the cafe windows, her lip a sinful pink. She’s beautiful when she’s not being an asshole. Unfortunately, she was gearing up to be a raging asshole. “So, you don’t care at all that Nobara is madly in love with a man who, in every regard, is the exact opposite of you? He’s stupid rich, largely respected, able to do anything he sets his mind to. A man. None of that bothers you?”
(Yes.) “Nope.”
“And you don’t care that he’s the first thing she sees in the morning, and the last thing she sees at night?”
(Obviously.) “Not at all.”
Momo leaned back in her chair, stirring her coffee while lowering her voice, conscious of how crowded the cafe was that day. “And you don’t care that she probably gets dicked down on a daily basis?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Mai nearly shouted, turning her face to look out the window. She didn’t want to know how many eyes she had attracted from the surrounding tables and booths, but if Momo’s shrinking in her seat was any indicator, there were many.
After a few moments of silence, Momo righted herself and leaned her elbows on the pastel pink table cloth. “So, you don’t care that Nobara didn’t want you to witness her eternal vows to a man she’s never bothered to introduce you to?”
Momo and Nobara both have a strikingly similar ability for hitting Mai exactly where they know it’ll hurt most. What reckless talent.
(For the record, Mai never answered that question.)
(But Momo didn't ask again, so who's really at fault here?)
(Think about it.)
To be fair, she never expected to be invited to the wedding, or to be introduced to “the love of Nobara’s life.” And why would Nobara fill Mai in on the details of her love life? It’s not as if they have any sort of amicability between them. Sure, ever since they graduated from high school, they formed a ritual of sneaking out of their respective estates every Thursday afternoon to entangle each other in hot breaths and limbs that know no boundaries, but that doesn’t mean they’re serious. That makes them lovers, not friends. They don’t even like each other, Mai is sure, at least on Nobara’s part. Mai certainly likes her, but that’s neither here nor there. If anyone is able to depersonalize sex, make it seem like she was completely there in the moment before ripping herself away like a stubborn band-aid, it’s Nobara. (Perhaps she practices religiously with Mai to fool her mythical husband. Or maybe, just maybe, Nobara practices with him to fool her. ) Mai has consistently been the one with the burden of abundance - too many feelings, attachments, desires. Hope. (The most pitiful item in stock. Nobara has said so herself.)
The particulars of her own relationship with Nobara remain up in the air to Mai, so she wasn’t disappointed when her wedding invitation was suspiciously lost in the mail.
Okay, maybe she was a little disappointed, but she knows now it was ill placed. She is, after all, the only person who can testify on behalf of Nobara’s infidelity. (Not that she would ever do such a thing, or that anyone would believe her, but surely she has the raw ability to stir the pot. At least a little bit.)
(Like, a fraction of an inch.)
(A slight nudge, if you will.)
Anyway, it’s said that Nobara knocked him out with a hammer before piercing his heart with a comically large nail. That’s the only part of the story Mai believes. Not the husband part, but that she killed a man with a hammer and nail. Nobara is symbolic like that, when she wants to be. (And she always wants to be.)
The husband’s private physician was the one to call the police the following morning when she came over for a routine checkup. The front door was, unusually, unlocked and the man was found dead in his bed, tucked away lovingly with his jaw hung open and his closed eyes covered with two gold coins from a currency no one has recognized. And then, of course, there was the nail protruding from his chest. As if the killer didn’t bother covering up the crime. But Mai doesn’t care about any of that. She only cares about the final lines in the newspaper clipping, accompanied by the most aloof photo of Nobara that Mai has ever seen:
“The suspect, Kugisaki Nobara, remains at large. If seen, call the police immediately. Do not approach under any circumstances. If you have any information about her whereabouts, please call…”
It’s a Wednesday morning, almost twenty-four hours before she would normally meet with Nobara for their weekly entanglement. Mai assumes Nobara will have to cancel this week, which is fine since she has a lot of mental processing to do. But still. It's a bummer.
~
Except she doesn’t cancel.
It’s nearly midnight and Mai has already drunk her way through several pots of mint tea. She’s been trying to come to terms with the idea that Nobara might have actually killed a man, which requires at least a few more pots of tea and maybe a blueberry scone. Surely, Mai can’t continue to sleep with a murderer, right? She should feel outraged, hurt, betrayed (not that Nobara has ever offered her the slightest shred of loyalty). She should be bothered. But she’s not.
Perhaps she should finally take Maki’s advice and call a therapist. Mai hates that her sister, of all people, is right about her, that she knows her in ways she doesn’t fully understand herself.
(But that's always the way, right? Mai's an open book written in a language she cannot decipher.)
(French, probably.)
“Nobara’s not someone to fuck around with,” Maki said once in a quiet room with an outdoor voice. It was one of the rare times they had both been at the clan’s estate at the same time, for different reasons. Mai because she lives there, Maki because she has a chip on her shoulder the size of a comet. “She’ll trample you.”
What Maki meant was, Don’t mess with someone who can and will beat you up. You will lose. What Mai heard was, Don’t sleep with her unless you want to be excruciatingly unravelled.
There’s a brief knock at the door, one tap and out, that startles Mai away from her moping. Who would visit her at this hour? In the outskirts of the Zenin estate, no less?
She waits several minutes before slowly opening the door, chain still intact, and peeks out of the doorway with a nonstick frying pan in hand. She's seen true crime documentaries, she knows how these things work. If someone’s here to kill her, they’re going to have to face a series of minor inconveniences.
It is with great disappointment that she finds no murderer waiting on the other side of the frame. There is, however, a pale pink envelope with a blood red seal - the image of a burning sun pressed into the wax. How dramatic.
"She really plans on dragging me into her trouble, doesn’t she?" Of course she does, and of course Mai will allow herself to be dragged, no kicking or screaming required, but perhaps a few grumbles to prove she’s not completely whipped. (She is.) Besides, there's something inherently romantic about Bonnie and Clyde, right?
Right.
Mai brings the letter inside as though it's an honored guest, preparing herself with a glass of Merlot and that blueberry scone to enjoy as Nobara attempts to sway her into criminal fuckery.
When she breaks the seal and pulls out the crisp, parchment note, she's both annoyed and charmed that Nobara has chosen the path of brevity.
Noon. Meet me in the usual place. I'll be waiting for you, princess. Just this once.
~
The “usual place” is shorthand for the attic of the old library that’s been on the verge of demolition and reconstruction for the better part of three years. Somehow, just as the plans to have it removed are set in motion, a mysterious benefactor comes along and financially keeps it afloat. No one has been able to trace the money back to a specific name or bank account. The large sum of money appears, as always, in cash, stuffed into a pretty pink envelope with a peculiar wax seal and a note that simply reads: It stays.
It is here that Nobara and Mai fuck. Technically, they use the phrase “make love” in polite company, but they only ever spend time with each other, so polite company is a non-existent issue. They fuck.
Tucked away near the entrance of an unappreciated hiking trail, the library is built upon old stone with leafy vines overtaking the walls, planting their roots into the broken windows as if nature decided long ago that this place is sacred, and it shall be her tithe. There's moss at the edges of the front steps that Nobara says look like little bowties. Mai begs to differ, but she's never been the imaginative type. The inside is all splintered wood and stubborn mushrooms growing through the cracks, a hollowness beneath each step that's probably a safety hazard. Orange and brown maple leaves are scattered about, probably blown in by the wind, and there’s a chill in the air that can only be attributed to the steady bloom of autumn. Old bookcases line the walls, worn down from lack of use and too much moisture. This building used to be attached to a university once upon a time, but that school had been torn down and moved closer to the city. At first, the idea of keeping the library and making it public floated around without aim. It theoretically has some historical value that a select few advocated for, but the notion has been long abandoned. Too much work, not enough workers. The same song and dance that brings all things to ruin.
Nobara found this place a few months after graduating from Jujutsu High. She was on a mission in Kyoto and stumbled upon the library, understanding the value in something that has been up for debate with no end. Even Mai didn't think much of the place when Nobara first brought her here. But there's a certain charm to it; its musty air, the swollen wood, geometric spider webs marking each corner - it's the kind of place to get lost in, willingly or by chance. Perhaps Mai only loves it for Nobara's sake. She loves a lot of things for that reason.
The attic is the only room that hasn't been affected by the elements, but only because Mai and Nobara replaced the ceiling boards and made heavy use of portable dehumidifiers. To be fair, it wasn't nearly as worse for wear as the downstairs to begin with. Children who throw rocks in windows can't reach that high, and they're certainly not brave enough to cross the "haunted staircase."
There's a minor curse that lives under the third step. All it does is make noise eerily similar to heavy breathing. Mai and Nobara leave it there for the unwelcomed kids to unpack.
The attic door is locked, opened only by a key they keep hidden under a loose floorboard. Inside sits a neatly made bed, a fresh pot of tea, and Kugisaki Nobara.
"Took you long enough."
Mai tries her best not to smile and, for the first time in a long time, she succeeds. "I'm early, actually." She sets her bag down, a small thump on the worn wood. "We should talk," Mai starts, but Nobara doesn't even pretend to listen as she closes the gap between them.
Her kiss is a desperate beast, all hot breaths and soft lips holding Mai down as if she might float away. Nobara's hands are in Mai's hair, nails scaling the back of her scalp and down to the strands that hang on her neck. Her scent is overwhelming, an intoxicating mist of sugar and roses, and Mai can't help but allow herself to be immobilized by Nobara's advance. Her hands are on the curve of Nobara's waist, pulling her closer, like they're two cells trying to fuse back into one organism. Being the taller of the two, Mai usually takes control and leads Nobara to wherever she sees fit, but today is different. Nobara isn't giving Mai an inch, swirling her tongue in Mai's throat to distract from the fact that she already has Mai backed up against the wall.
"Wait," Mai gasps in between breaths, but Nobara knows what's coming and seals whatever she was about to say next between the vault of their kiss. (What was she about to say? Nothing important, she hopes. It's all a blur of sugar and roses now.)
Nobara's hands move down Mai's back and land on the hem of her blouse, retracing their steps north through a parallel path. Her hands are cool against the bare skin of Mai's back, but they warm up quickly as they unhook her strapless bra and fling it to the floor below. Nobara's hands zero in on Mai's tender, exposed flesh, her thumbs pressing gentle circles around stiff nipples and causing Mai to gasp as though she's just been touched for the first time.
A large part of Mai knows that Nobara's sudden attention to detail is due in part to the questions that should probably remain unasked and unanswered, and she knows that she should not allow herself to get swallowed whole by an alleged murderer.
(But hey, it's only alleged, right? That doesn't mean she did it.)
(She can have faith in her lover without it making her an accessory to the crime.)
(Even if she knows without a shadow of a doubt that Nobara killed her husband.)
(That means nothing, though. He hardly existed to begin with.)
(Well, not "nothing." It does mean that Mai's an idiot.)
(But whatever, whatever. That's nothing new.)
(Really. It's fine.)
(She's fine.)
“N-Nobara,” Mai tries again, though her body belies her words. It’s tricky, being put between a rock and a hard place, especially when the rock is murder and the hard place is Nobara’s iron-clad determination to force Mai into submission. Literally and figuratively. Her mouth travels down Mai’s neck, teeth grazing against sensitive skin. “We really should t-talk.”
Nobara sighs, shoulders slumped, and places one last kiss just under Mai’s ear before backing away. Her withdrawal leaves Mai feeling cold. “I was kinda hoping we could forget about it, for a little.”
Mai does too. That’s what makes this so hard. “I know, but I just can’t forget. I’m worried about-”
“Oi, oi. You don’t need to go worrying about me, princess. I can handle myself.” There’s a hint of an accent, the evidence of her country upbringing.
Mai smiles warmly and tells the truth. “You’re wanted for murder, dipshit.” And then, as she usually does when Nobara backs her into a corner like this, she lies. “I’m more worried about myself than you. I like having accessories, not being one.”
“Allegedly. I allegedly murdered him.”
“Glad to see you still have your sense of humor.”
Nobara sits at the edge of the bed, kicking her feet against the swollen wood floor. “It’s been an exhausting day and a half.”
“You think you’re exhausted? I was almost the victim of a true crime last night,” Mai says with grandiose exaggeration. "I needed two glasses of wine just to calm down."
Luckily, Nobara sees the joke. “Oh, please. Any kidnapper would send you right back after hearing you run your mouth.” She leans her elbows on her knees, the dark circles under her eyes visible in the shadows of the afternoon light. “You should really quit the true crime podcasts. They do nothing for your nerves.”
She doesn’t mean this in a general sense - that stories of heinous crimes might erode one’s mind to the point where distrust and suspicion are just natural states of being - no. By “your nerves,” she means Mai’s nerves, specifically. It's an insult masked in concern, or vice versa. Mai can never tell.
"Oh, please. I'm with a wanted criminal right now and my nerves are fine. If anything, I've learned how to defend myself."
Nobara lifts a brow, smirking. "Oh? And if I kidnapped you right now, you'd know how to fight me off?"
"Of course," Mai responds with a twirl or her gray skirt before sitting beside Nobara on the bed. "As you said, I would simply run my mouth."
"Ha!" she laughs and the sound is like fresh champagne on a summer night. She leans back on the bed and stretches her arms out above her head. "It'll take a lot more than that to get rid of me."
"You say that as if it's absolute."
Nobara closes her eyes and covers them with her arm. Mai's seen this image before, two years ago, back when Nobara first confessed that she was engaged to a man she’d only met just three months before.
"Things are going to have to be different, Mai. Between you and me, that is. He's… ah, whatever. He's not someone you need to worry about. Just promise me this: promise that you'll trust me when the time comes."
"What do you mean, I-"
"Promise me."
"…I promise."
At that time, Mai would have promised Nobara anything and everything without regard for consequence. Not much has changed since then, and it only becomes more obvious with age that Mai is slowly allowing her love to overcome any semblance of common sense.
That summer, Nobara devoted every spare inch of her time to growth, from her hair, to her nails, to the size of her heels, all the way down to the list of secrets she still keeps locked tight behind her lips. She probably would have grown right out of her own skin and emerged a brand new woman if she had the chance.
Now, sitting above her on a worn bed in a worn room with a worn expression on both their faces, Mai can see that Nobara is the exact same size she has always been. Sure, there’s a certain air of wisdom about her that hadn’t been there before, but it isn’t the type of knowledge that people yearn for. It’s the type that’s only gained from seeing the world as it is and being utterly disappointed with how it compares to their expectations. Her hair is longer and well groomed, but it’s reverted back to her natural dark color. Only the ends hold the remnants of its previous brightness, a sun setting for the last time before it fades out for good. It’s as if the past two years have drained Nobara of herself, her growth a violent thing that subtracted from her instead of adding on.
But Mai can see her, underneath it all. She sees the Nobara she met at the exchange event all those years ago, buried under the weight of her title, her responsibilities, her status as a stranger’s wife.
(Well, widow.)
(Is she still considered a widow if she’s also the official cause of death?)
(No time to unpack that, it’s a headache for another day. An older and wiser Mai will sort that out.)
(Besides, she already has a headache lying down right next to her.)
(It's not bad though, this headache. It's beautiful and vibrant and unavoidable, a pain that forces new things to grow.)
"I did it, you know. Killed him."
Mai sighs. "I know."
"He trusted me. Looked so… disappointed when I hammered my nail into him." She spits out the words, like she doesn't want them to be true. Like she'd rather he hated her, in the end, instead of falling in endless shades of gray.
"I know."
"I didn't want to do it, but… but I had to. From the very beginning, I had to. But he was… kind. He wasn't at all what I expected. I loved him, but wasn't in love with him and he knew that and still accepted me anyway."
"I know." Mai leans down and runs her fingers through Nobara's hair, not actually knowing a thing.
Nobara hides her face in her hands, forming a barrier between herself and her next few words. "A slippery curse-user who hid behind money and politicians. Gojo said he thought I would be perfect for this mission, so he recommended me to the higher ups. Said I'm just hard enough to make it through without so much as a scratch."
Ah. So that's what this is all about.
Mai can't help but feel relieved that Nobara's marriage was only ever an assignment, a paper agreement between herself and the faceless Jujutsu higher ups. But as the relief floods in, guilt follows soon after.
I'm sorry, Nobara, she thinks, but will never say. I'm more selfish than you realize.
(Is it selfish to be relieved that the man she killed was not, in fact, the "love of her life?" Nobara is spared the extra heartache.)
(Okay, okay, fine, it has more to do with Mai's proximity to Nobara than the dead husband's.)
(But it all comes from a place of concern.)
(Not jealousy.)
(…)
(Oh, fuck it.)
(So she's selfish. Morally reprehensible to the highest degree. Sue her.)
(Actually, don't. She’s broke.)
(Please.)
"Mai?" The word is barely a sound, a wisp of air in a lonely forest when no one’s around to hear it.
"Hmm?" How long has it been since Nobara called her by her name?
(Five years ago. On her graduation day, to be exact. When Maki rejected her and Mai had a familiar face.)
Back then, the names “Maki'' and “Mai” were recklessly interchangeable, a common slip of the tongue that felt more like a plea for Mai to morph into someone else entirely. Now when Nobara says her name, it's a natural extension of her tongue, the sound rolling off her lips the way she rolls out of bed. As if Mai exists both in and around Nobara, tucked into crevices and folded neatly into flesh; she's devil in the details, as red as Nobara's blood orange lip.
"They were wrong about me," she says finally, her mind made up. "Gojo and them. They were wrong."
“I don’t think that’s inherently a bad thing,” Mai says and means it, though she’s not sure if that’s what Nobara wants to hear. “In fact, I’d say you’ve done a good job of proving them wrong.”
She chuckles, though, soft and low, and that’s not nothing. “You think?”
Mai smiles. "I know."
"You sure know a lot, huh?"
"Someone has to."
Nobara rolls over to her side and props herself up on one elbow, facing Mai with only a few breaths of separation. “Well then, smartass, do you know what comes next, or do I get to surprise you?”
Mai closes her eyes, drinking in the feel of Nobara’s close proximity, and allows herself to indulge in the fantasies she’s never let slip past her daydreams. “Hmm, perhaps you ask me to run away with you, and we move to a quaint, countryside village in Europe with nothing but the shirts off our backs and a generous compensation from the higher ups. And maybe you and I find work in libraries and flower shops, and spend our nights lazing about under the stars with bottles of wine from a nearby vineyard.”
“That’s a pretty picture,” Nobara says, amused. “Heh, It seems you really do know everything. I can’t seem to keep a single secret from you.”
Mai’s eyes shoot open. “Oh?”
Nobara grins something devious. “I booked two tickets to Barcelona. Not really a quaint village, but we’ll be able to blend in well enough with all the tourism.”
There’s a gleam in Nobara’s eye and Mai wants to cradle it in the palms of her hands. “Are you serious?”
Nobara nods. “After a couple of years when it’s safe, we could move out to the countryside. Gojo instructed me to stay the fuck out of Japan for at least five years while he sorts everything out, just to be sure I’m in the clear.”
This sounds too good to be true. Mai knows it, and it must be clear on her face since Nobara smirks and crooks a brow. Still, Mai has to ask. “And you want me to go with you?”
There’s no hesitation, no moment to second guess. Mai might know everything, but Nobara knows exactly what to say to get what she wants, and right now she wants no one else but Mai. “Oh, princess, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Mai lunges forward and kisses her, roses and sugar and fantasies come to life filling the blackness behind her eyes. Nobara’s hands catch themselves in her hair and she wraps one leg around Mai’s hips, stabilizing herself to move on top of her. When Nobara separates her lips from Mai’s, she searches her eyes and finds the answer to a question she doesn’t need to ask. Still, out of courtesy, she asks anyway. “So, are you coming?”
Mai kisses her again in response to what she already knows, light and breathless and filled with promises of more on the horizon.