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Mai buries Maki without cremating her, even though she really should know better after everything that happened. It just feels right. Not many things feel right anymore, so Mai's willing to chance it. Kenjaku is dead, or so they say, though nobody really believes stuff like that deep down after all the resurrections they've seen. She's pretty sure if she saw Maki again, even if it wasn't really Maki, she'd be stupid enough to let them back into her life. She's pretty sure that's something a lot of them would do, which makes her stomach twist around itself, trying to wring its own contents out; even her love for her sister is unoriginal and incomplete.
They say Mai was incomplete before, and that she's whole now, but she doesn't believe them. If this is what wholeness feels like, she'd rather be broken. It's worse than that, though—she's woefully alone, cut down the middle and and being told to stand on one leg, and all that without even getting what her sister wanted from her. All of that, and she can still feel Maki's corpse on her back, weighing her down. She's going to feel it until her mission is finally done.
Someone has been following her.
She catches glimpses of them when she walks around Tokyo. They're always far away, far enough that she can never be sure if what she's seeing is the real thing or just an illusion, but they have dark hair in the same cut as Mai's (and Maki's, before she got taken away), obvious muscles under their clothes, and pallid skin like a corpse. Mai never tries to get closer to get a real good look, though, because the real distinguishing factor about this person is their sheer lack; not even one crumb of cursed energy. She never would've even noticed them if not by luck.
If she never gets close, the illusion never dies. And maybe her stalker will kill her or kidnap her or whatever, but it isn't like that matters anymore. Like this, it's easy to imagine that's what Maki wants.
After all, whoever is following her must be the last person Mai's supposed to kill.
Things stay like that for longer than Mai would care to admit. Every day, Momo keeps asking her why she's so distracted lately, and she brushes it off like she always has. Even when things were a lot more low stakes than a potentially resurrected twin, Mai's been carefully groomed into being a lockbox for secrets. Who they belong to is more or less inconsequential. They'd tried to do the same to Maki, but Maki's always been a lot stronger than Mai about stuff like that.
Maki was always a lot stronger, she means.
Fuck it.
When she gets back to her room to find the lock has been picked, it hardly even registers. Oh, of course, she thinks, hand loosely gripping the doorknob. This is the escalation. My gun's strapped to my thigh. Should I take it out?
What if it's Momo or Miwa there to give me a surprise or an intervention or something and I shoot them in the face, though? They say most gun accidents happen in the home. And if it is Maki, it's not like shooting will do anything. But if I go in unarmed, she'll be disappointed in me. I'll have to listen to her nagging forever. And then I'll want to shoot myself.
The gun stays in its holster as she twists the knob as silently as she can, cracking the door so she can peek in without making a sound.
She really is expecting Momo or Miwa—maybe Kamo, if he's been convinced to return temporarily for this by the others, maybe Utahime-sensei if things have gotten really unbearable—but instead she sees the figure. Even though she's never been close enough to make out real details, she'd know them like the back of her hand. They're a big fat zero in the middle of the world, after all.
For a moment, Mai is complete again. She shoves the door open, eyes wide and already brimming with tears. It's all right, all exactly as she knew it would be.
"Maki," she spits, half-accusation, half-pleading. "You came back."
Then the body across from her shifts, seeming to unfold, standing up from his place hunched over the bed. He's a lot bigger than she thought he'd be. Taller, certainly, but he's broader, too, and the scars on his forearms are far too subtle (practically nonexistent, just faint impressions of forgotten, habitual violence) for how Maki was before everything went wrong. Of course, Maki had looked the same once, though not the same, not really.
When he turns around, how badly mistaken she's been really hits home. His eyes are black, except for a ring of unnatural blue. There's a distinctive scar on his lip, making him look as though he's scowling even when his face is perfectly flat. Whoever this is definitely came back from the dead, but he sure as hell isn't Maki.
"S'that your twin?" he asks, shoulders relaxed.
Mai screams at the top of her lungs.
"Hey, hey, hey," he hisses. He's upon her in a moment, his hand clasping over her mouth. "I'm not here to hurt you, okay? I promise. Uh, I know that probably don't mean much, since I broke into your room and all. I mean it, though, honest. Can we talk? If I let go of your mouth, are you gonna talk with me rationally, or are you gonna keep screaming?"
She fixes him with the nastiest glare he can. He processes it for a moment, then sucks air in through his teeth.
"Ah, yeah, I guess open ended questions like that aren't great for this kind of situation," he sighs, shoulders slumping. His grip on her jaw shifts, and Mai is sure—just like Maki before him—that the only reason he hasn't broken her skull at several key points is a shockingly deep understanding of how his body interacts with the world around it, born out of years of broken toys, plates, and weapons. "How about this? Nod for 'yeah, I'll be good', and shake your head for 'no, go fuck yourself'."
Mai bites down hard on his hand and tastes iron.
"Ow," he complains. It's reflexive, though. The muscles in his hand don't even twitch in response. "Okay, fine. Option B. Hey, I get it."
Knowing it's a lost cause, she releases her jaw. That seems to be enough to convince him to pull his hand back. He shakes it out, blood and spit flicking over his dirty sweater.
"What the fuck do you want?" she hisses, drawing her lips back into a snarl.
Of course, he's unaffected. "Hey, you're not screaming! Good. That's good. That's great." Wiping his bloodied hand on his sweater, he manages to smear it with red while not cleaning off his hand in the slightest. Mai gags.
"I know I kind of burst in unannounced, but I promise I had good reason," he assures.
"Yeah?" She licks blood off of her teeth. Gags again. "What's that?"
The man hesitates for a moment. While he might play the part of a clueless brute expertly, it's obvious from the way he's acting that it's playing after all. Maki never would've done any of this. If Mai doesn't pull her shit together, then...
"Well," he begins, avoiding looking at her directly, "you know. I mean, you know, right?"
She stares at him.
"Like, you know who I am," he insists, tugging idly at his sweater, trying to pull the blood out with his dirtied fingers.
"No, I really don't," she scoffs.
"But you can guess," he presses, stepping into her space, looming over her. Thoughtlessly, she shoves him away. He actually has the decency to step back, too.
"No, I really, really can't," she insists. "I mean, I can tell you're a Zen'in, if that's what you mean? Which, like, yeah, you should be dead. Big whoop. Half the people I know should be dead. I should be dead, too. You're not special."
Now it's his turn to stare at her. He blinks a few times, pursing his lips as he thinks about it.
"Fushiguro," he corrects. "So, we're family. Ain't that reason enough?"
"To kill each other, maybe."
"I ain't here to kill you," he grumbles, shoulders slumping. "I mean, connect the dots, kid."
"Why would Megumi's dad want anything to do with me?" she insists, crossing her arms over her chest.
There's a thick silence. He clears his throat.
"You mean," he begins, stilted, practically stammering, "you, uh—you know who your dad is?"
"In my defense, all the family trees in the compound were destroyed! Your doing, I presume," Toji gripes.
They're in a cheap noodle shop, which Toji picked because the TV in there airs the horse races. ("Knew this place would still be up and running. Kinda wondered if the horses had all died, though!") The place stinks of cigarettes that people aren't even supposed to be smoking and cheap beer that people aren't even supposed to be drinking. Since they walked in, at least three full grown adult men had hit on Mai, and when Toji hadn't reacted beyond rolling his eyes, she'd taken it upon herself to show the last guy, a trucker in line with them, that she was packing heat. It gets him to run away, tail between his legs. In other words: it is exactly the place she would expect a scumbag like Fushiguro Toji to frequent.
"What reason would that be to presume that I was your bastard child?" she scoffs. She pokes at the egg in her noodles with her chopsticks, looking him over. "We don't look that alike."
"We really do," he insists. "I mean, shit, we even got the same haircut."
Mai really doesn't want to think about that. "It's a crazy leap. All of us look alike—looked alike."
Toji rubs under his nose with his finger, sniffing. "Yeah, whatever. So you're sure Ogi's your dad?"
"Yes. Creep."
"Why would me thinking I was your dad make me a creep?" he huffs. Almost immediately, he deflates. "Actually—don't fuckin' answer that."
"Go talk to your real son," she snaps, stabbing the egg.
"I tried. He doesn't want anything to do with me."
"You stalked him and then ran away, didn't you?" Mai accuses. Toji leans back in his chair, slinging one arm over the back of it and sighing loudly.
"Okay, maybe. But I know he doesn't. Last time I saw him I nearly killed him."
"I'm not your therapist."
"You ever try to kill your Maki?"
"Don't call her that," Mai snaps. "And none of your business."
"Well, after you tried to kill her, did she wanna talk to you?" he presses.
Mai bristles. "Just drop it."
"Oh," says Toji, smirking, "you're the one who didn't wanna talk to her, huh?"
There's a loud thump as the table rattles with the force of Mai kicking Toji's shins. He has the decency to wince as if he felt it at all.
"I'll talk to Tsumiki," he relents, "but I had to check in on this first. I mean, I figured you'd be..." Toji trails off. "Well, you have to promise not to get pissed."
She should really just shoot him. "Why? What stupid shit were you about to say?"
"You're getting pissed before I've even said anything," he whines. It's very, very offputting coming from a man of his stature. Something about him gives off the impression of being a kid—younger than her—despite everything. If she told him to jump, he'd probably ask how high. It has nothing to do with them being family. He's just in desperate need of approval.
Bile bubbles in her throat. "Yeah, whatever. Get on with it. I promise I won't get pissed."
He leans his head back, exposing his throat as he looks up at the ceiling. "I heard about what happened to your sister," he confesses, with all the grace of a tank driving down a city street. "Megumi still has his. I thought you'd be easier to talk to."
She stares at him, jaw agape.
"Because, you know," he continues after a moment, waving his hand in a circular motion, "you're, like, lonely?"
This time both of their bowls jump with the force of her kick, and he actually hisses air in through his teeth before giving her the world's most unearned hit puppy dog eyes. She kicks him again for good measure, softer, but aiming for the same spot.
"Don't," she warns. "Don't even fucking think about it."
Blinking, he considers this.
"Okay," he agrees. "I won't."
For a while, neither one of them speaks.
"Number three pulls over the finish line in first," barks the announcer on the TV. "Number three will be taking home today's gold medal! Followed by number 12, number—"
Toji tsks, leaning his chin on his hand. "Unlucky. It's always the days you don't bet, right?"
Mai just glares.
"...Yeah, well." He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. "I don't got a place to stay, and I don't have any money, so..."
"There's not a chance in hell you're staying with me," she dismisses. A laugh actually forces its way out of her at the idea. "I live at the school anyway, fuckface. What do you expect me to do for you?"
He groans, dragging his hand down his face. "No, look, I...I know you're at the school. But..."
He trails off, giving her those puppy dog eyes again preemptively. So, so badly, she needs to go home and take a nap.
"What?" she asks, drumming her pointer finger against her bicep.
"You have the key to the compound, right? You inherited it. Or, well, Megumi did, but he gave it to you."
"Oh, fuck no," she scoffs.
"Just give them to me! I can stay there, rent-free," he begs. "Come on, Mai. It'll get me out of your hair."
"You are fucking crazy. You're actually deranged."
"Maybe," he agrees, pouting, "but if not there, where am I gonna stay? The guy I was staying with—business partner, not boyfriend—not that there's anything wrong with that—"
She kicks him again, once more aiming for the same spot.
"He kicked me out," Toji continues, as if nothing happened. "I'm thinkin' he'll take me back in when he remembers how good I am to have around, but we might need a month or so before then."
"Sleep on the streets," she dismisses. "I don't owe you shit."
"—and what an upset, folks! I still can't believe it! That an underdog like that could find his fight at the last minute—"
"Okay," Toji agrees, and is that the only fucking word he knows? He throws his hands up in surrender. "I guess you did pay for lunch, so I won't complain."
Housing and one cheap greasy lunch don't seem equal to her, but she won't say so. Instead, she just pushes her untouched noodles over to him. Toji only hesitates for a moment before picking the bowl up and dumping the contents into his own nearly empty one.
"Just don't let me see you again," she orders. So much for Maki's final wish. Mai is such a fucking coward.
He nods. "You won't," he agrees. If he's aware of the weight of it, he doesn't let on.
They part ways. Mai gives up on Maki's wish. It's only fair. Maki had given up on Mai more times than Mai can count.
He manages to keep his promise for about a week. Or, rather, Mai lets him think he's keeping his promise that long.
Maybe it's just because she has a whole childhood of practice, but he really isn't nearly as sneaky as he thinks he is. When her shadow is just a little too long, her footsteps just a little too heavy, her breath coming just a little too short, she knows exactly what's happening. When you're so used to fading into the background, any semblance of attention will be enough to set off your alarm bells.
None of them like taking the train after what happened that night. Mai's tragedy is both more and less personal than the carnage on the Shibuya subways, but it stings every time she sets foot on the metro anyway. Her feet are weighed down with concrete as she forces herself to take the steps two at a time into the depths. Reconstruction has been going well, but it seems most of the city agrees with the sorcerers on this one. When she enters the tunnels, no one else is there. And, granted, it's off hours on a Sunday, but they're also in Tokyo. There's something deeply unnatural about it. Surely not that many people prefer the bus.
Leaning against one of the poles, she waits about two minutes before calling, "Okay. Come out. I know you're there."
For a minute, nothing happens. She might be the biggest dipshit alive. Mai leans her head back against the concrete and sighs.
A voice calls back, "Shit, really? You're better than I thought, kid."
Mai rolls her shoulders. His footfalls are softer than Maki's for sure—it's not even a contest. In fact, they're closer to Mai's own. Still, his absence cuts through the cursed energy down here. Or maybe she's just imagining it. It's not like she has the Six Eyes to go off of. Nobody does, anymore. (And if Gojo Satoru were still alive, would he suffer Fushiguro Toji's survival? Something in her tells her no.)
"Just a lucky guess," she informs him as he comes to rest against the same pillar, opposite from her. Does he think she doesn't want to see his eyes? Maybe he's just worried she'll mistake him for a ghost again. Mai grinds her teeth together.
"Nah, you knew. Don't downplay it." She hears him scuff his foot against the ground. "What tipped you off?"
"If I tell you, you'll stop doing it."
"Fair point."
"Why've you been following me?"
"Well," he begins.
It goes nowhere. She sighs with all the force she can muster, almost a groan.
"Okay, okay," he laughs. "Jeez. I'unno. You just seemed lonely."
Mai's mouth is dry. "What about Tsumiki?" she challenges. "Or Megumi?"
"Well," he repeats, trailing off again. It's only momentary. This time he picks back up before she can even voice her complaint, adding, "I guess I'm not ready yet. Just like you don't ever visit your sister's grave."
In the distance, Mai hears a tide, cold and inviting.
"I'm not judging you, by the way," he adds, completely unconvincingly. "I don't visit my wife's grave, either. Never could bring myself to."
"This is nothing like that," she snaps. "Disgusting pervert."
"Oh," breathes Toji. There's an understanding there that she wishes she could erase.
"I know who you are," she adds. "The shit you've done. You're the shame of the clan—or you were, before Maki and I—and before those fucks all died."
"Who told you about me?" he wonders. She can hear him shuffling closer, and it takes everything in her not to move away. She's not going to be beaten again.
"Everybody knew you," she lies.
"Nah, they bury shit," Toji dismisses. His shuffling feet sound closer and closer; she can just barely see his hand peeking around the corner in the corner of her eye. "Girls like you wouldn't hear about it, especially not if your twin was like me. They wouldn't wanna give you ideas. Only the members of the clan they gave a shit about would hear about it, 'cuz those guys wouldn't bitch out and run away. Uh, no offense."
Mai relents. She shuffles away, until their backs are facing each other again. Toji is silent for a moment.
"It was someone who hurt you, huh." The fucker doesn't even have the decency to pretend it's a question. Mai grips her own arms so hard she's sure she's going to bruise herself.
"I'm not talking about this with you," she snaps.
He moves around on the other side of the pillar. Is he nodding, or just shifting around, uncomfortable with the knowledge he's prodded out of her? She really doesn't want to see him. All of the Zen'in look the same. "I get it."
"Stop."
"Okay."
"I really mean it," she insists, voice wavering.
"I said okay. I'm stopping."
The tide gets louder. A sea breeze tickles at her hair. If she closed her eyes, maybe she'd see her not-quite-reflection, marred by fire and battle. Really, though, it wasn't fair. What good was having the abilities Maki had given her with her dying breath if Mai isn't even able to remake her sister with them?
"What did you do in the big fight?" Toji wonders.
Mai exhales slowly. "I remade the Inverted Spear of Heaven. It was supposed to help break Gojo out. It didn't end up mattering, though."
He whistles. "Goddamn. That's a strong fucking ability. You've been able to do that all along?"
"No," she mutters. "Not all along."
The ocean laps around her feet. He doesn't try to pull her out of it.
"I could use some weaponry," he says instead. "Why don't you make me some? With a, uh, family discount?"
Mai chews the inside of her cheek.
"Why'd you call me out, anyway?" he adds when she doesn't reply. "You coulda said nothing. We coulda just pretended nothing was happening at all."
Her next breath shudders. Her chest is too tight. Her skin is all wrong. She should be burnt, battle-scarred. She should be someone else entirely.
"Do you really want weapons?" she asks. Her shoulders are trembling. "For free?"
"Uh." She hears him shuffling again, closer and then back to his original position. "You okay? I mean, yeah. Maybe, if you'd be okay with it."
Blinking tears out of her eyes, she wipes frantically at her face.
"God," she sobs, "you really are just fucking like her."
"Uh," Toji repeats.
Mai buries her face in her hands and wails. She sinks to the ground, curling up into a ball. Everything is so quiet that her mind can fill in the waters Maki disappeared into, but she can't actually follow. It's just like Maki. Despite everything, she'd broken her promise. She was always, always going to leave Mai behind.
The arms wrapping around her are solid and cold. "Hey, it's okay," Toji forces out, words awkwardly spaced, the beats all wrong, like he's never said them before. He doesn't even give her a moment to pretend. He's really worse than the stories made him seem. "It's okay. Let it all out."
"I hate you," she sobs, to Toji and not to Toji at all, beating her fist weakly against his chest. "I hate you, I hate you so much—"
"I know," he murmurs, rubbing her back, rocking them back and forth. "I know. Hey, it's okay. Just breathe."
How long they stay there, she doesn't know. After a while, as he quiets down and just lets her sob it out, it gets much, much easier to pretend he's someone he isn't, as long as she keeps her eyes closed. She keeps them screwed shut all the way until he carries her back to her dorm room, and she doesn't even give a second thought to how it must look.
And, just like the one who came before him, once he delivers her to her room, he leaves her behind.
"Mai-chan, who's that for?" Momo demands, leaning over Mai's desk. She hasn't graduated yet, but it's a close thing. Seniors, Mai is learning, really enjoy skipping class.
On her desk sits yet another copy of the Split Soul Blade. The one Mai made before, she's been using while hunting curses. Since Maki isn't around anymore, she figured she may as well take up the mantle of swordsman. It's not like she's got much competition these days.
"Me," Mai lies. "Itadori broke my other one."
"That idiot!" Momo fumes. "I know it wasn't technically his fault or whatever, but I still think this all would've gone more smoothly if he'd been executed after all. I mean, everyone would be—"
She trails off. Mai shrugs.
"We can't know that," she points out. "I get it, though."
When she looks up to meet Momo's gaze, she balks at how skeptical the older girl looks.
"What?"
"You're friends with him now?" Momo accuses, leaning over the desk, into Mai's face.
"No! I mean, not really. I don't give a shit about him," she excuses, leaning away as best she can. Momo is determined, though. She has one knee on the desk to get as close as she can, leg precariously close to the blade.
"Is this for him?" she insists. "You can't do that, you know! You never should've lent it to him in the first place. It's a special thing, for you and Maki-chan!"
"Alright, alright. I won't do it again," and she never did it in the first place, but, y'know, details. "Get off my desk before someone sees you acting like a freak. Fuck."
Reluctantly, Momo hops back down. She narrows her eyes at Mai.
"You'd tell me if it was for him?" she insists.
"Yes, I would tell you if it was for him," Mai sighs, rolling her eyes.
After another long moment of scrutinising her, Momo relents, stepping back. "Fine. I believe you this time."
"You don't trust me?" Mai asks, raising an eyebrow and smiling.
"Obviously I do. But you've been off since..."
Since Maki died.
"Yeah, well, I'm coping," she says. "I finally worked out something that works for me."
"If you say so. Hey, I'm going to get sweets. Do you want any?"
"Uh, duh," Mai scoffs, pushing up out of her desk. "I'll come with you."
The sword is forgotten on the desk. When Mai comes back to retrieve it later—to put it somewhere its intended recipient will find it—she realises it's already gone. Really, she should've seen that coming.
"It's always the days you forget to bet," she mutters to herself.
When she closes the door behind herself, there's no weight on her back.