The courtyard was quiet. A rare thing at Jujutsu High.
Kishibe sat on the bench just outside the infirmary, a bandage wrapped around his ribs and another just above his brow. The wound had reopened last night, and Yaga forced him to get checked again. Shoko was late, or pretending to be. He didn't care which.
His fingers idly twitched against his knee. He could still feel the special grade's claws digging into his side. He could still hear the sound of its arm shearing through the air, heading straight for Gojo. Stupid kid didn't even see it coming. Kishibe didn't think—he moved. Took the blow instead.
Gojo hadn't apologized. Not that he expected him to.
He'd done what he had to. And now, here he was, alive when he probably shouldn't be.
The door creaked open. Shoko stepped out, lab coat wrinkled and hair tied lazily back. She looked exhausted. Probably hadn't slept since the mission.
"You're supposed to be resting, not brooding like a movie extra," she said, lighting a cigarette. She offered him one.
He took it, wordless. She lit his with a casual flick. For a while, they just sat in silence.
Finally, she asked, "Hurting?"
He exhaled smoke. "Not where it matters."
Shoko leaned against the wall. "You nearly died. Again."
Kishibe didn't reply.
"You ever think about not jumping in front of a special grade?"
"No."
Shoko took another drag. "Yaga says you've got a death wish."
"He's wrong."
"Oh?"
Kishibe's voice was flat. "I'm not wishing for death. I just don't mind it."
Shoko turned to look at him fully now, brows pulling together slightly.
"There's a difference," he continued. "People like me… We're just weapons. Disposable. You keep patching me up, like I'm worth saving. But I'm not."
"You think that little of yourself?"
"I don't think of myself at all."
Shoko looked away. The silence returned, heavier than before.
"I patch you up because I can," she finally said. "Because if I stop doing that, then I'm no better than the world that broke you."
Kishibe said nothing. The cigarette burned low in his fingers.
Footsteps approached.
Gojo.
He tried to pretend he wasn't awkward. "Yo."
Behind him, Geto followed, quieter. Their presence made the bench feel smaller.
"You look like hell," Gojo said, trying to lighten the mood.
Kishibe didn't respond.
"You saved me," Gojo added more seriously. "I know I joke a lot, but… thanks."
Kishibe just nodded once. "Don't make me do it again."
Geto knelt slightly to Kishibe's level. "It's okay to be angry. Or scared. Or tired."
"I'm none of those things," Kishibe said.
"Then what are you?" Geto asked softly.
"Used up."
No one argued with him.
Shoko put out her cigarette and walked away. Gojo didn't follow. He sat beside Kishibe, shoulders tense.
The silence between them said enough.
They were alive. Barely. And it didn't feel like a victory.
Kishibe stared into the dusk sky, smoke curling upward like ghosts of the past.
And still, he breathed.
For now.