The air hung thick and damp, smelling of cherry blossoms past their prime and the lingering ozone tang of recently dispersed curses, when Aithan first set foot on the grounds of Tokyo Jujutsu High. It was late spring, a season of endings and beginnings, and his arrival was marked by little more than the crunch of his boots on the gravel path and the distant shouts of students engaged in some vigorous, unseen training.

  He carried no entourage, only a single duffel bag and the ingrained posture of someone perpetually braced for inspection. Tall and lean, built with a wiry strength that hinted at speed over sheer bulk, he moved with an economy of motion, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. He noted the almost invisible shimmer of a ward near the main gate, the precise placement of an ofuda beneath a stone lantern in the courtyard – small signatures of power woven into the mundane fabric of the place.

  There was no welcoming committee, no pronouncements. Yet, he felt it – a subtle shift in the campus's low hum, a quiet attention turned his way, as if the very stones and the senior sorcerers recognised the tightly coiled cursed energy thrumming just beneath his skin, a potent secret waiting for the right moment to be told. He was nineteen, the same age as the girl with the fiery hair he’d glimpsed sparring fiercely in a distant training field, the one whose energy felt like crackling fireworks.

  He was assigned, quickly enough, to the first-year cohort, joining the rather volatile trio of Itadori Yuji, Fushiguro Megumi, and Kugisaki Nobara. Their designated supervising instructor, Gojo Satoru, was apparently off dealing with some high-level nuisance, leaving Nanami Kento to handle the initial integration, a task Nanami undertook with his usual weary sigh and clipped efficiency. Their first formal meeting took place not in a sterile briefing room, but crammed into a corner booth at a cheap ramen shop near the school, slurping noodles under Nanami’s vaguely disapproving gaze.

  “Aithan,” Nanami stated, adjusting his glasses, “will be joining your team effective immediately. He possesses a unique cursed technique. Treat him as you would any other classmate. That means minimal property damage and try not to get each other killed before lunch.”

  Yuji, ever the enthusiastic golden retriever, beamed. “Awesome! Another teammate! I’m Yuji Itadori! Nice to meet ya!” He offered a hand, which Aithan shook with a measured firmness.

  Megumi offered a curt nod, eyes flicking up from his bowl for a fraction of a second before returning to his broth. “Fushiguro Megumi.”

  Nobara Kugisaki, however, leaned back against the vinyl seat, chopsticks paused midway to her mouth, and simply stared. Her gaze was sharp, analytical, taking in his height, his calm demeanor, the way he held himself. There was no hostility, just… assessment. Like she was trying to decide if he was worth the energy of acknowledging. He met her stare, holding it for a beat longer than strictly polite, a silent acknowledgment of her scrutiny. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips before she turned back to her ramen with a decisive slurp. “Kugisaki Nobara. Don’t slow us down.”

  “I’ll try my best,” Aithan replied, his voice even.

  And so began his life amidst the chaotic energy of the first years. Their initial missions were less about grand threats and more about integration and baseline assessments – minor curse clusters blooming in abandoned pachinko parlors, residual hauntings in old apartment complexes, the tedious but necessary work of reinforcing weakening seals around minor shrines. Nanami, or occasionally Ijichi driving, would ferry them around in the standard unmarked car. Yuji would inevitably try to fill the silence with chatter about movies or food, Megumi would stare out the window, lost in thought, and Nobara… Nobara often sat beside Aithan in the back, arms crossed, observing.

  Sometimes, Yuji would ask Aithan about his technique. "So, what's your deal? Like, Megumi's got his cool shadow dogs, Nobara's got the hammer and nails, I punch stuff… what do you do?"

  Aithan would offer a simple explanation. "I manipulate cursed energy into fine, sharp threads. Think of it like weaving, but with destructive intent." He demonstrated once, on a low-grade curse resembling a tangle of greasy hair lurking in a disused office building. While Nobara pinned its amorphous form with a well-aimed nail, Aithan extended his fingers, and shimmering, near-invisible lines of twilight-coloured energy shot out, slicing through the curse’s core with clean, silent efficiency. It dissipated into nothingness.

  Nobara whistled softly. "Huh. Minimalist. Efficient. Not bad."

  "Yours is hardly subtle," Aithan countered mildly, nodding towards her hammer.

  She grinned, a flash of sharp confidence. "Subtlety is overrated when you can just nail the problem shut. But yeah, okay. Sharp threads. Got it."

  Their teamwork developed quickly, born of necessity rather than immediate camaraderie. Maki Zenin, joining them for certain joint training exercises or larger assignments, often dictated tactics with her usual brisk authority. "Alright. Standard sweep pattern. Nobara, Aithan, west wing. Megumi, Yuji, east. Maki and I," she'd say, referring to herself, "will take the central structure." They’d split off without argument. Nobara would often take point, hammer ready, moving with a fluid, aggressive grace. Aithan fell into step slightly behind and to her side, his senses alert, ready to intercept or support. "Target, two o'clock," she'd murmur, and he'd already be weaving threads to cut off its escape. "Cover me!" he might call, and she'd drive a Resonance-infused nail into the floor, sending a shockwave to stun an approaching curse while he finished another. They worked well together, a blend of her explosive offense and his precise, controlled power. There was little conversation beyond mission specifics. "Clear." "Confirmed." "Moving on." Back in the car, the silence between them wasn't awkward, just… unoccupied territory.

  Life at Jujutsu High wasn't all exorcism and gloom. There were mandatory chores, communal meals, the endless cycle of laundry and cleaning shared spaces. In these moments, the rigid lines of professional cooperation blurred slightly. Aithan, meticulous by nature, often found himself tidying the common kitchen or organising training equipment. Nobara, surprisingly domestic when the mood struck, might whip up a surprisingly decent batch of stir-fry for everyone, complaining loudly about Yuji’s bottomless appetite the entire time.

  One evening, Aithan was wiping down the kitchen counter long after dinner. Nobara walked in, heading for the fridge, likely for a late-night snack. She paused, watching him work for a moment.

  "You're always cleaning," she observed, pulling out a carton of milk.

  "Someone has to," he replied without looking up. "Besides, it’s… methodical. Calming."

  "Weirdo." She said it without malice, more like a statement of fact. She leaned against the opposite counter, sipping her milk. "So, 'Sharp Threads'. Where'd you learn that? Doesn't seem like a standard clan technique."

  He finally looked at her, drying his hands on a towel. "It's not. My family… they weren't sorcerers, not officially. It was developed, refined over generations, kept quiet." He hesitated. "Discipline was heavily emphasized."

  "Sounds fun," she deadpanned, though her eyes held a flicker of genuine curiosity. "Bet your childhood was a real barrel of laughs."

  Aithan offered a ghost of a smile. "It had its moments. Mostly involving training dummies and strict schedules."

  "Figures." She finished her milk, rinsed the glass, and placed it in the drying rack with a soft clink. "Well, try not to make the rest of us look like slobs, okay? Some of us enjoy a little 'lived-in' chaos." She gave a mock salute and headed out. "Night, Thread Guy."

  "'Night, Hammer Girl," he murmured after she'd gone, a strange warmth spreading through his chest.

  Weeks bled into the first month. They assisted during the aftermath of the Cursed Womb incident at the detention center, helping with clean-up and securing the perimeter while the higher-ups dealt with the fallout and Yuji's apparent 'death'. Aithan saw the raw grief in Megumi, the furious, tear-streaked frustration in Nobara. He offered quiet support, fetching water, standing watch, not intruding on their shared history but simply being present. He learned then that Nobara’s fierceness wasn’t just bravado; it was armour for a surprisingly vulnerable heart. When Yuji miraculously returned, ushered back under Gojo's typically dramatic flair, the relief that washed over Nobara and Megumi was palpable. Nobara punched Yuji soundly in the arm, tears welling again, this time mixed with anger and joy. "You idiot! Don't you ever do that again!" Aithan watched the reunion from a slight distance, feeling like an observer to a family drama, yet strangely included in the raw emotion of it all.

  Gojo’s return meant… Gojo. Erratic, overwhelmingly powerful, and prone to bizarre training methods. He seemed particularly interested in Aithan's technique. "Ooh, threads! Delicate! Precise! Like needlepoint, but deadly! We gotta see how that meshes with Nobara's Resonance! Think of the synergy!" He'd clap his hands together, making them spar – Nobara’s explosive strikes forcing Aithan to weave defensive patterns faster than thought, his threads trying to find openings in her relentless assault.

  "He's trying to kill us," Nobara panted during a water break, wiping sweat from her brow.

  "Or make us stronger," Aithan replied, stretching his aching fingers. "Though the distinction feels academic right now."

  "Whatever. Just try not to actually slice me in half, okay? I like my limbs attached."

  "Wouldn't dream of it," he said, and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

  She noticed the small smile. "Hey, look at that. Thread Guy actually has expressions."

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  Beyond the official training and missions, small routines formed. Aithan discovered Nobara had a weakness for specific brands of melon pan sold at a convenience store near one of their frequent patrol routes. He started picking one up for her occasionally, leaving it on her desk without comment. She, in turn, learned he preferred his tea brewed strong and bitter, and sometimes a mug would appear beside him while he studied curse patterns in the library. They started gravitating towards each other during group meals, not necessarily talking constantly, but sharing the same space. They’d debate the merits of different Tokyo districts (Nobara championing Shibuya's trendiness, Aithan preferring the quieter, older charm of Yanaka), critique Yuji’s movie choices ("Seriously, another brainless action flick?"), or exchange exasperated glances over Megumi's uncanny ability to fall asleep sitting upright.

  The looming Goodwill Event with the Kyoto school cast a long shadow. Training intensified. They drilled formations, practiced domain countermeasures, and pushed their cursed techniques to their limits. One afternoon, exhausted after a particularly brutal session orchestrated by Maki and Gojo, Aithan and Nobara found themselves the last ones in the training yard, stretching sore muscles under the setting sun.

  "Think we're ready for Kyoto?" Nobara asked, massaging her shoulder. "Todo Aoi sounds like a real piece of work."

  "We're as ready as we can be," Aithan said, leaning against a wooden post. "Todo's strong, but brute force isn't everything. Precision matters."

  "Easy for you to say, Mr. 'Slice-and-Dice'." She flopped onto the grass with a sigh. "I just hope I get a chance to show those Kyoto snobs what Tokyo's really made of. Especially that Mai Zenin." Her voice held a familiar edge of competitive fire.

  Aithan sat down beside her, pulling a blade of grass. "You will. You're formidable, Nobara. You don't back down."

  She glanced at him, surprised by the direct compliment. Her usual sharp retort didn't come. Instead, she looked away, towards the darkening sky. "Yeah, well. Gotta be. This world doesn't exactly reward shrinking violets." A beat of silence passed. "You're… you're pretty formidable too, Aithan. Quietly terrifying, maybe."

  He considered that. "I prefer 'reliably effective'."

  She snorted, a small puff of laughter. "Whatever. Point is, you pull your weight. More than, actually. That thing you did back at the office building, slicing that curse before it even touched me? Thanks for that."

  "Instinct," he murmured. "We cover each other."

  "Yeah." She plucked a dandelion puff and blew the seeds into the wind. "We do."

  They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the approaching evening wrapping around them – the distant city hum, the chirping of crickets, the soft rustle of leaves. It wasn't charged or awkward, just… calm. A shared moment of respite before the next inevitable storm. He noticed the way the fading sunlight caught the auburn highlights in her hair, the determined set of her jaw even in repose. She, perhaps, noted the stillness in him, the way his usual guardedness seemed slightly relaxed in the quiet twilight.

  It was later that week, after a particularly draining mission involving a curse that fed on anxieties in a crowded shopping mall – a messy, psychologically taxing fight that left them all ragged – that things shifted decisively. They’d returned late, showered, and convened in the common room, too wired to sleep. Yuji was already passed out on the couch, Megumi was reading stoically in a corner, but Nobara was pacing, restless energy still thrumming through her.

  Aithan was making tea, the familiar ritual soothing his frayed nerves. Nobara stopped her pacing near the counter.

  "That was… a lot," she said, running a hand through her hair. "Hearing all those people's fears whispering… ugh."

  "Cursed techniques that manipulate emotion are insidious," Aithan agreed, pouring hot water over the leaves. "They prey on vulnerabilities."

  "Yeah, well, glad we nailed it." She leaned against the counter, closer than usual. "You were quick back there. When that thing tried to make me freeze up… your threads cutting it off… felt like you snapped me out of it."

  "You weren't freezing," he said, handing her a mug of tea. "You were analyzing."

  She took the mug, her fingers brushing his. A small spark, unexpected and warm. She didn't pull away immediately. "Maybe." She looked down into her tea, then back up at him, her gaze direct, searching. "You know, Aithan… for someone so quiet, you're surprisingly… present. Always right there when things get hairy."

  "Isn't that the point of being teammates?" he asked, his voice softer than intended.

  "Yeah, but…" She trailed off, taking a sip of tea. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and Yuji’s soft snores. He could feel the unspoken question hanging in the air, the subtle shift from camaraderie to something else. He watched the way she worried her lower lip, a habit he’d noticed when she was contemplating something important.

  Then, decisively, she set her mug down. "Okay, look." She stepped even closer, closing the small space between them. He didn’t move back. Her eyes, usually so fierce and challenging, held a different kind of intensity now – curiosity mixed with a nascent warmth. "We work well together. We don’t annoy each other too much. And… honestly? I don’t hate having you around."

  He felt his own pulse quicken, a rare occurrence outside of combat. "The feeling is mutual, Nobara."

  Her lips curved into a genuine, unguarded smile. "Good."

  And then, before he could fully process it, she leaned in. It wasn't a hesitant brush, but it wasn't overly aggressive either. It was pure Nobara – direct, confident, maybe a little bit impulsive. Her lips met his, firm and warm, a brief but electric connection that sent a jolt through his system. It lasted only a moment before she pulled back, her eyes searching his face for a reaction.

  He didn't offer a witty retort or a cool deflection. He simply reached out, his hand gently cupping her cheek, thumb brushing softly against her skin. He leaned down and kissed her back, slower this time, a silent answer. It felt… right. Unexpected, yet strangely inevitable. Like finding a missing piece he hadn't realised he was searching for.

  When they drew apart, a faint blush coloured her cheeks, but her grin was triumphant. "Okay," she breathed, a little laugh escaping her. "So that’s… a thing now, I guess?"

  "I guess so," he replied, a slow smile spreading across his own face. It felt good. It felt real.

  They didn’t announce it. There was no grand declaration to Yuji or Megumi or Maki. But things changed, subtly at first, then more noticeably. They started spending more free time together, not just in the group, but walking back from late-night training, studying side-by-side (often devolving into quiet bickering over study snacks), or finding excuses to partner up during drills. He’d instinctively block a stray curse aimed her way during missions, she’d clear a path for his threads without needing to be asked. Their synergy, already good, became seamless, almost telepathic.

  Maki raised an eyebrow one morning when Aithan automatically poured Nobara a coffee exactly how she liked it before she even sat down. Megumi just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod when he saw them walking back from the village together, hands brushing occasionally. Yuji, bless his oblivious heart, just seemed happy everyone was getting along so well.

  Nights often found them in one of their dorm rooms, sometimes talking late about everything and nothing – the absurdity of Gojo’s latest pronouncements, the best places for cheap gyoza, fragments of their lives before Jujutsu High (Nobara’s escape from her small town, Aithan’s stiflingly disciplined upbringing). Other nights, they’d just exist in comfortable silence, reading or listening to music, the simple presence of the other a grounding force against the constant threat of curses. Sleepovers became a regular occurrence, born not of dramatic need but simple desire for closeness. Lying tangled together in a narrow dorm bed, the world outside felt a little less daunting. It was a quiet intimacy, built on shared danger, mutual respect, and a growing, undeniable affection. They learned each other's sleep habits – she sometimes kicked, he was an incredibly still sleeper. They learned the quiet comfort of waking up next to someone who understood the shadows they faced each day.

  The Goodwill Event arrived, a whirlwind of intense competition, unexpected attacks, and the looming threat of Mahito and Geto's schemes. Aithan fought alongside his teammates, his threads proving invaluable in dissecting cursed spirits and creating defensive barriers. He witnessed Nobara’s fierce battle against Nishimiya, her unwavering spirit, and felt a surge of pride. He worked with Megumi to corral rogue curses, supported Yuji against Todo (a truly bizarre encounter he tried not to analyze too deeply). When the event was disrupted by the invasion, their training kicked into high gear. He moved in perfect sync with Nobara, shielding her when Hanami’s devastating attacks rained down, his threads lashing out to sever branches and deflect projectiles while she searched for openings with her Resonance.

  In the aftermath, shaken but resolute, the bond between them solidified further. The shared trauma, the victories snatched from the jaws of defeat, stripped away any remaining pretense.

  One quiet evening, weeks later, they were sitting on the steps outside the dorms, sharing a bag of chips and watching the fireflies begin to blink in the twilight. The air was warm, smelling of summer grass.

  "You know," Nobara said, nudging him with her shoulder, "for a guy who showed up looking like he was auditioning for the role of 'stoic background character number three', you turned out alright."

  Aithan leaned back on his elbows. "And you, Ms. 'Don't-Slow-Us-Down', turned out to be surprisingly tolerant of my presence."

  She laughed, a bright, clear sound. "Yeah, well. You grew on me. Like a particularly stubborn, surprisingly useful fungus."

  "Charming."

  "I try." She finished the chips, crumpled the bag, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Her usual spiky energy was softened, replaced by a quiet contentment. "Seriously though, Aithan. It's… nice. Having you here. Being… this." She gestured vaguely between them.

  He put an arm around her, pulling her slightly closer. The campus was quiet around them, the weight of their world momentarily lifted. "It is nice," he agreed softly. He thought back to his arrival, the solitary figure stepping onto the grounds. He wasn't solitary anymore. He had found his place, not just as a sorcerer, but beside her.

  She tilted her head up, her expression open and warm in the dim light. "Think this'll last? Us? In this crazy line of work?"

  He met her gaze, his own serious but certain. "We make it last, Nobara. Day by day. Mission by mission." He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment on her cheek. "I wouldn't want to face it with anyone else."

  Her smile was soft, genuine, reaching her eyes. "Me neither, Thread Guy. Me neither."

  Naturally the next day, a bench was tucked behind one of the older storage buildings, half-shaded by a weeping cherry tree. Quiet. Out of the way. Which was exactly why Aithan and Nobara had drifted there after training, nursing bottled teas and bruises.

  “Your blocking’s better,” she said, poking his side. “Didn’t get smacked even once today.”

  “I had incentive,” he replied, eyes amused. “Something about not wanting to look stupid in front of someone terrifying with a hammer.”

  “Flatterer.”

  He leaned in, slow, deliberate. She met him halfway, lips brushing his in a soft kiss — familiar now, but still thrilling. When they pulled apart, her hand lingered at his jaw. She smiled.

  Then, a very distinct voice broke the peace.

  “Well well well. Look who’s swapping cursed energy for spit.”

  Nobara froze. Her face immediately turned a shade of red not even her nail polish could compete with. She buried her face in Aithan’s shoulder with a groan. “I hate everything.”

  Gojo, somehow already holding a popsicle and a triumphant grin, strolled into view like he hadn’t just witnessed the emotional equivalent of a third-year confession.

  Aithan, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Do you always sneak up on people?”

  “I don’t sneak,” Gojo said cheerfully. “I saunter. It’s part of my mystique.”

  “Go away,” Nobara muttered, muffled against Aithan’s hoodie. “We were having a moment.”

  “Oh, I know. It was very awww. You even did the forehead touch thing — I almost cried.”

  Gojo popped his popsicle in his mouth, then winked. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Unless Yuji finds out. Then I’m telling everyone.”

  He vanished a beat later, teleporting with a breeze and a laugh.

  Aithan looked down at Nobara. “So… back to training?”