Rain fell in soft drizzles outside Jujutsu High, misting the stone pathways and saturating the trees until they looked like shadows pressing against the school's boundaries. Inside the dormitories, the air was still, thick with the smell of old wood and damp clothes. Kishibe sat on the wooden engawa, a half-finished cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.
He was alone. Or so he thought.
"You know, you shouldn't smoke indoors. Principal Yaga might throw a fit," came Gojo's voice from behind. Light, teasing, with the kind of confidence that always walked the line between charm and arrogance.
Kishibe didn't bother turning around. "This isn't indoors. You're blind and an idiot."
Gojo chuckled. "Rough day, huh?"
"They're all rough days." He flicked the cigarette over the railing and watched the ember vanish into the wet earth below.
Geto appeared next, joining them with a quiet grace, holding two cans of warm coffee. He passed one to Kishibe, who accepted it with a nod.
"You've been quiet lately," Geto said.
Kishibe cracked open the can, the hiss filling the pause. "I'm always quiet."
"No," Geto countered. "You're usually angry."
That pulled a low chuckle from Kishibe's throat. "Still am. Just tired, too."
Gojo leaned against the pillar beside them, his blindfold pulled up to rest on his forehead. "You know, for someone who acts like he wants to be alone, you sure hang around us a lot."
"I don't hang around. You two don't leave me alone."
There was a beat of silence, not cold or awkward—just full. Then Gojo nudged his shoulder against Kishibe's. "We're a trio now. You don't get to walk off and brood forever."
Kishibe looked at him sidelong. "Is that how it is?"
Geto smiled softly. "That's how it is."
---
Later that evening, the trio found themselves gathered in the common room, dimly lit and echoing with the occasional creak of the building's old bones. The mood was more relaxed now, Gojo sprawled out on the couch with his feet on the armrest, Geto sitting cross-legged on the floor with a thick book, and Kishibe leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
"How long have you been using that blade of yours?" Gojo asked, glancing toward Kishibe.
"Since I was twelve," Kishibe replied. "Taught myself. No one else was gonna."
"And your cursed technique?" Geto chimed in, curious. "The way you sever through cursed energy—it's different. Dangerous."
Kishibe hesitated. For once, he didn't deflect. "It's called Severance. Cuts through cursed energy and disrupts techniques. It's not refined. Just… works. Brutally."
"Effective as hell," Gojo muttered. "I still have that nick on my ribs from sparring last month. Thought you were gonna slice me in half."
"Should've." Kishibe looked away.
Geto closed his book slowly. "You're not like most of us. But you're still one of us."
"You don't know anything about me."
"Maybe not everything," Geto said carefully. "But I know enough. You fight to live, not to be a hero. That matters."
There was something vulnerable in Kishibe's expression then, something raw behind the armor. He didn't respond. But he didn't walk away either.
---
That night, Kishibe stood under the rain again. This time, he wasn't alone.
Gojo and Geto flanked him, neither saying anything. The rain soaked through their clothes, and none of them moved to stop it.
"My mother was a prostitute," Kishibe said suddenly. Voice low. Steady. "I was born in a brothel. Raised by addicts and ghosts."
Gojo and Geto didn't flinch.
"I killed a man when I was eleven. Human. First time I used cursed energy. I didn't even know what it was."
Gojo's voice was soft. "You didn't have a choice."
"Didn't I?" Kishibe looked at him, sharp and haunted. "Maybe I did. Maybe I liked it. That's what scares me."
Geto stepped forward. "You're still here. Still fighting. That says more than your past ever could."
Kishibe laughed once, bitter and tired. "You two are idiots."
"Probably," Gojo agreed. "But we're your idiots now."
For the first time in years, Kishibe allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn't completely alone.