▬▬ spiegel im spiegel, light in your eyes

"RIGHT, RIGHT, it really does make sense, right?"

You were sitting on the floor at the hall of floor ten: reddish sunlight sparking off the blots of blood flanking the surface. The cursed spirit the cursed user created were eliminated, oxidizing against the air after a countless dread of fighting them.

"'Mirrors in the mirror.'," you said, a thrill ran through you. "It refers to an infinity mirror, which produces an infinity of images reflected by parallel plane mirrors."

It must be tricky to find the weakness of the curse technique, and knowing that you had the absolute power above all, you could just pause time even for a second and kill the motherfucker. He wouldn't be aware, nevertheless . . . Especially if he died that instant.

Though the cursed user didn't explain it to you, it was quite a shame that it took you long enough to realize.

"But still useless in the end, eh?" you laughed, crazy enough as you talked to an amputated head. "You fucking prick."

Displeasure and spite were simultaneously carved into your cheeks. Despite that, your voice had no anger, because it was satisfying to see a cocky human meet his demise. That was how arrogance could do. You knew that you were arrogant yourself, but you had all the rights to be this arrogant. Grabbing the man's head, you exited the elevator car as you rode your triumphant high of your good mood. You were still nauseous from last night's psychoactivity, and it couldn't be helped not to make any mess, blow some steam, and seethe with animosity.

You didn't care about the aftermath of this, and by the time you walked into the hallway, you were even humming a cheerful tune while hopping on the process.

From your standing point, you had watched every trickle of cursed energy oxidized.

But what appalled you was that Nanami wasn't returning, neither the mirror dimension crumbling.

You began to think. It looked like that mirror dimension could operate on its own even if the creator had died.

"Huh," you lauded as you leveled the severed head to your face, "what a waste of potential you have there, dont you think?"

Now, it was just a pure mocking. You laughed psychotically. You didn't feel sorry to this young cursed user. His life had already wasted as soon as he joined the enemy group; it was clear that they were just using him for their own benefit. You understood that, because that was the thing you would also do once you became one.

And unto to the main conclusion of this mission, you needed to think ways on how to enter a mirror dimension or destroy it in order to retrieve Nanami.

To tell the very truth, your mission had ended. Whether there were people to retrieve, it didn't matter; no one could tell if they were still alive.

But you pondered also to that thought: no one could tell if they were already dead.

What if they were alive, though?

Not that you cared, but your curiosity was teetering you to the edge. The Mirror Dimension was a paradox, and an one-of-a-kind phenomena like that, you couldn't let it pass.

You studied briefly the actions of the cursed user a while ago. He could access the Mirror Dimension through a portal, in which he materialized with his cursed technique. You had no regards to any kinds of spatial techniques, but you could turn time like a little knob.

Before the user died, he had opened a portal and popped his head out of it—that was when you paused the time and saw his head off. And so, let it be done, you reverted back time as if you pressed the backward button of a remote while watching a movie, only stopping when before the head would reconnect to the body.

The portal had the resemblance to a ripple when a stone was dropped on a flat-surfaced, calm lake. And you touched that part, then meticulously advancing the time of the chemical particles of the cursed energy. It shattered like a glass, and soon as a hole with the size of the door was created, you felt the crippling malignant atmosphere as if gravity had come rushing over you. In a glimpsing moment, you activated your devilish sides—a hundredfold times than the presence in the secondary world—all prepared to raise a scorching hell in this place.

The Mirror Dimension had a dark, bloody-like atmosphere, whilst in this highrise building had the sunlight stretched inside the elevator lobby.

You entered the portal and you appeared like vertical black figure against the light.

You were overcoming the horrifying, infested air, and still, you sophisticatedly walked on the marble floor as if you were the most superior in this false dimension.

When you reached a certain part of the dimension, you recognized the silhouette of man that resembled Nanami a lot. He was sitting on the ground, his back resting against the wall.

"Uwaah . . . That took me a while. Gomen, gomen," you said while treading the direction towards Nanami.

Panning your gaze on your right, in front of him was a cursed entity.

The patchwork fuckface.

You greeted him with a diabolic smile, but with amiable face. By his flinching reaction, you could easily tell the abrupt fear screaming from his unearthly nature. It was quite a coincidence to meet him again. Thus the Mirror Dimension user was in cahoots with cursed spirits like him . . . And gazing at the area, there were morphed humans loitering around without a care in the world. Then you scoffed. The reason for the spirited away humans was them.

"You managed to arrive here . . ." the patchwork said in a heavy voice, almost breathless. He even noticed the severed head you were grabbing by the hair that added more to your fearsome quality.

"It wasn't that hard, y'see," you answered back with a playful tone and threw the head at him in the process.

To his own accord, he caught it. He manically chuckled upon recognizing whose head it was. "I'm right about you, nee-san."

Your brows frowned darkly, looking questionably at him. "Huh?" And who's he calling nee-san?

"It's a secret!" he enthusiastically exclaimed and triggered his cursed technique.

Eyes opened wide, you saw how he changed atomic sequence of the severed head and created a brand new cursed spirit.

It attacked you instantly, but you defended back as soon as it jumped in front you.

Once it got killed, you returned your attention to the patchwork, and much to your dismay, he had escaped.

Not that it mattered, of course.

Shifting your gaze to Nanami. In that dimly lit place, there was a six inches length of stab on his chest—about a size of a regular scythe. So, you went closer to him, crouching down to his eye level, and you smiled at him. "Good work today."

To Nanami's ears, it sounded very taunting—heartless, to a certain extent.

He couldn't describe what was he feeling, the only thing his focus was on was the warm like liquid just running down his chest as if a bottle of water was being poured on his chest. And the more he would catch his breaths, the more crimson, slimy liquid surging out.

"Really?" he answered, struggling. "You think?" Then he smirked ruefully as the pain started to sink in slowly . . . He got this feeling like being poked by a thousand needles on his chest. Nanami was losing tons of breathes, and he gazed at the kid who had fated the same as him. "T-That kid . . ." still he croaked, because his conscience would only be eased if he was saved.

"What's with the kid?" you asked calmly, sitting right next with a little grunt.

Nanami wondered how apathetic and unresponsive you were in that critical situation.

". . . Save him," he groaned, sputtering spittles of blood from his mouth. Each breath just got shorter and shorter and he couldn't even do anything about it. Never in his entire life he would expression that breathing was that painful.

"Oh, I can," you said full of pleasantry but also conceit, "but I won't."

He had been bleeding for minutes now, and his body would fall sideways, and you were next to him but doing nothing.

"My deal with Gojo is to save the people, and that's only limited in the real world." Knowing that he couldn't see you, you tilted your head, looking at him with eyes glinting with pure evilness. "Yet this isn't the real world, just basically another dimension."

To your surprise, a chuckle of forlorn resonated from his bloodied mouth.

"To think that I justified you . . ." he uttered, quite amused.

That dying thing . . . It wasn't the first time Nanami had experienced what death felt like—he was prone to dying in those recent days—and it was making him a little talkative.

Your attention spiked, curiosity bloomed on your head. "Justified? Me? To whom?"

"That cursed spirit . . ."

Oh, patchwork.

"What did you justify me for?"

The jaded sorcerer had his hearing began to fade as if he sinking deeper the water, a little heavy, as if gravity was pulling him closer and closer to the quietness. And alas, he barely heard what you had said, so he answered with a faint smile while succumbing gradually to darkness, "That you are–" it shot him a bit surprise when his head finally fell on your shoulder and you got caught from his scarlet life source lazily oozing out from his wound– "you are . . . a sorcerer . . . who has saved and will always save humans . . ."

You didn't expect it, so you laughed. You closed your mouth as soon as you realized it was rude, but it didn't stop you from sneering. "Haha, such a shame, right?" you said, comfortably leaning your head where his head that was planted on your shoulder.

It was a blatant mockery.

Nanami wished he didn't hear it, but he still did despite he was getting those echo-ish effects on your voice.

"Heh, yes, such a shame . . ." Always and always, he indeed had the habit of grinning in the face of death. Although his eyes were still open his visions were becoming dark, as if a back circle was closing in, what only remained was the point of light in the center—it was probably what people meant with light at the end of the tunnel. "You . . ." then he gasped while hearing the ringing noise in his ears, and he swore that the pain literally went away as if no stabbing was happened. ". . . have no compassion . . . O-Only . . . a c-calloused heart . . ."

He wanted to add something more with his testament, but at that point, Nanami was ought to let go.

Letting go, floating on that weird, peaceful quietness . . . It just made him wanting to close his eyes and sleep. He never, even once, feared dying; it became a part of his life, but what was regrettable was his final words. He could have said something philosophical or something life-changing, yet he cursed someone in the end.

Well, not that it mattered, especially to you who was an immortal.

What only mattered was that surreal feeling of peacefulness . . . No pain, but it was such a weird experience. Nanami was never a religious person, but going to that quietness was like being sang a lullaby and there was a light guiding his path to the afterlife. It was very tempting to close his eyes fully, but really, he was thinking of the people he'd leave. He didn't have much bond to his family, but he was ruminating about how they would cope to his death . . . Or maybe, they wouldn't cope; no one would even care if he died, anyway. To his fellow sorcerers, they might—perhaps. To live a sorcerer life was to die a cruel death, and for other sorcerers, death was just another normal, day-to-day, event.

. . . And that's okay.

He just wanted to die without
anyone mourning for him.

Yet it was incomprehensible . . .

First, it was the losing of awareness and the ability to feel pain. Second, it was the inability to remember things other than the sensation of genuine peacefulness . . . That feeling of not thinking, just pure reverie.

It was still unsure if anything that happened were hallucinations, but it was somewhat trivial to concern himself with such experience.

And no matter how it was perceived, still, it was an unforgettable experience . . . He had become more aware of the fragility of life, the beauty in simplicity, and the appreciation of the deeper connection of silence and space.

And thus, he woke up.

But unlike the usual way he would wake up.

This time, he had gotten himself a panic attack—in which made him scared just by waking up—as if all of his darkest thoughts came rushing like a legion of demons to overwhelm him.

Anxiety gripped him mercilessly—unsteady breathings, clammy forehead from sweating, fast and thrumming heartbeats.

"Waah, it's okay, chill."

As soon as heard a voice, there were gentle taps on his shoulders. He immediately went back to reality with that. Halting from his teetering movements, inhaling deep, assessing the place as he exhaled. The plain cloudy white ceiling greeted his eyes, and in his peripheral view, he saw you. Slowly shifting his gaze at you, you read the bewilderment quelling his face.

You were sure that he had a lot of questions about the vague events, it seemed that he barely had the strength to speak.

The both of you stared at each other in silence.

At those moments, Nanami somehow hated the idea of losing consciousness. It made him vulnerable and transparent, especially in the light of your apathetic eyes.

"You . . ." he uttered as though in delayed shock, and then he tried to compose himself. "What happened . . ?"

You only grinned, "Before that, is there anything you need?"

Nanami flickered his eyes slightly wide open. Your question made sense in him eventually, realizing that his throat was parched.

"Water," he simply answered, "that's all."

"I'll get you water." You stood up quickly and went to the adjacent kitchenette of the emergency area of that infirmary room. You grabbed a pitcher from the fridge and a glass from a glass holder. Once you returned to the gurney where Nanami was settled, he adjusted the bed according to his preferred angle and sat down comfortably. "Here," you said while handing him the glass.

Without saying anything, just a plain nod of his head, he took the glass and drank some it before putting it on the bedside table.

"So," you started while prolonging the "o" syllable, "you were asleep for seven hours now." Then you took a chair, placing it beside his gurney, and sat down.

Seven hours? Nanami couldn't remember when it was the last time he slept that long. Just by doing a simple analysis, he could tell that it was already nighttime.

"Before that?"

"Hmmmmmmmmm," you hummed while thinking so hard to have a little trip down to memory lane, "you got stabbed."

Nanami suddenly felt annoyed. After all those moments of thinking, that was the only thing you could come up with?

"Yes, I know." His frustration bled through his calm demeanor. "After that?"

"You passed out," you smiled teasingly as you replied. He only gave you a look of disdain—that was when you decided to cut the satire. As you propped your elbows on the bed, you planted your chin to your palms. "That was when I reverse-cursed-technique you."

"So even after your RCT, I didn't gain my consciousness back?"

"Nope, nope, because your nervous system needed to respond from a physical trauma, thus it geared towards shutting down to keep you alive through keeping your body still." You could give logical answers for you were once a doctor. "And basing from the length of your sleep, you haven't had decent rest lately, have you?"

Nanami moved his head on a side away from you. "Don't mind me." He only dismissed nonchalantly. "How about the other details?"

One thing you noticed about his personality was that he didn't really mind his own well-being. He worried about the other insignificant details, although he himself might not be aware of that fact. It seemed to you that Nanami had build thick sheets of unbreakable ice either for his own benefit or for other people's benefit. Now, he was more detached, uncompromising, and preferential—no one could enter.

And yes, you knew that it wasn't your business to care, so you didn't poke your nose to the matter as much as you could have.

"Uh, so, there wasn't much damage in the building, since the occurrences took place in the Mirror Dimension," you began, thinking about the accurate words to explain the sequence of events. "Those morphed humans who weren't dead, I reverted them back to what they are, but it kinda sad for some of them who had to die."

Nanami only groaned to himself; he needed to kill them for him not to be killed.

"Shoko took care of the corpses, by the way," you added. "After everyone's got moved to a safe place, that's when I simply destroyed the Mirror Dimension. What happened inside that dimension doesn't affect the real world, so we're still fortunate."

Her explanation meant a lot for him, it meant that the boy was not doing fine. He thought that you wouldn't take actions from the incident, and it proved him wrong. He just got carried away from your enigmatic nature. The 7:3 sorcerer then realized that you had to work all of the stressful things, and you were still working until this time—night duty in the infirmary.

Nanami also knew that you weren't dedicated enough in working and saving people . . . Yet he wasn't sure if he'd applaud your desperation to find solutions for your death or sneer at the irony or it.

"Oh, also," you said again.

Nanami gave you his attention.

"I changed your clothes to a patient's gown—your suit and long sleeves were too bloody, y'see—except for you pants," you mused as if you were narrating a story, shrugging innocently all the while. "Ichiji took care of your soiled clothes, sent them to a dry cleaning, and bought you a new one."

The blonde sorcerer noticed the paper bag on the working tables in front.

Standing up, you walked to your station, grabbed the bag and placed it on his bed. "Your old long sleeves and suit are also in here—fresh from the laundry—but I don't think you can wear them again; the cuts were pretty big."

Hearing you talk made Nanami feel like he was softening a bit around you. For him, you were opening up, letting yourself be transparent as much as possible without any reluctance. He heard you mentioned before, but you had lived long enough in endless piles of lies, and it felt freeing to be that honest around them without a fear of being judged.

On the other hand, you—an immortal—met a lot people in your lifetime. You had no problem saying stuff to him—even the most random things your mind could come up with. But as close as you had drawn yourself to him, further cloudliness eluded you. In your efforts to read him better through his tough shell, he would just distant himself more, not letting an fragment of his inner soul be revealed.

You grinned on that thought. It only made you want to annoy him more.

He worked his actions as he hid all of his unspoken thoughts for a short while, before he heaved a sigh and took the paper bag. "It seems that you're wanting me to leave already."

You played with your facial expressions so well, and managed to conceal your surprise. "Oh, no, not at all, Nanami~" He sounded like he was enlightening the atmosphere, so you teased back. "You can stay as long as you want. I was just indirectly suggesting that it's not okay for you to get discharged if you're already feeling well enough."

He blinked, a little oblivious. "No, I'm going to leave." If you could be discharged now, he'd rather be home now.

"Haha, figures," you laughed candidly as you went back to your chair to give him a little lone time.

Each of the gurney were divided with curtains, so Nanami pulled the fabric to close his area. He needed to change clothes—as you suggested. What you said were right: you changed his clothes (probably cleaned his bloodied self, too) and the pants remained, but very bloody. The pants could be washed clean and be used again.

You heard the rustle of fabrics; he began changing, you guessed.

You sat there stiffly, grabbing a pen and piece of paper, feeling sort of awkward to what was your guest doing. To ease the hushed silence falling over the room, you started talking again.

"Before you go, there are some things I need to ask you." Like your practice when you were still working at a hospital, there was that standard checklist to ask before discharging someone, and you had adapted it and still doing it up to that night.

"What's it?" he simply asked with his calm and rich voice traveling from behind you.

"I understand that you just had a near-death experience," you declaimed as you wrote the words 'near-death experience' on the paper.

Your words struck him, flinching a bit while buttoning up his shirt. "And?" He turned another question after a short silence.

"And from what have I seen, you woke up quite disoriented."

Nanami made no reply as he was listening to your musings, and that time, he folded the patient gown neatly and placed it on the lower right corner of the bed. He also grabbed the half-full glass of water and finished with three gulps. His sunglasses, too, it was placed on the bedside table so he took it and put it inside the bag.

When the curtains parted, that was when you turned your swivel chair to look at him.

"You might be awake right now, but are you sure that you're experiencing reality?" A trick question—you would ask, of course—because a physical experience was a combination of dream events interlaced with objective acts.

And so, Nanami's face briefly registered the dazed expression of puzzlement. Is she trying to interfere my memories? It was true that when dreams were beyond realistic, it would be hard to differentiate reality from the figments of his imagination. Nevertheless, Nanami had a strong connection to reality, and dreams—as a matter of fact—were the direct result of his memories. His subconscious acknowledged his near-death experience and thoughts while he was still active, then the subconscious stored the memories in his long-term memory.

The dream state appeared chaotic, shadowy, and gloomy; unlike in life (reality), it was brilliantly vivid that a dream seemed to be static, background noise left over from when waking up.

And thus, he concluded, "No, I'm not dreaming."

You only grinned, "Correct answer~" and said in a form of a tune.

He look so cool just him thinking, though. His prim hair was now disheveled and his sunglasses were taken off—you could picture his whole visage fully. He also wore his white long sleeve casually, some of its buttons were loosened, and tucked the sleeves to his elbows.

"One more thing," you prompted, stoping him before he would pass you by. Nanami turned his direction towards you with his usual questioning silence. "Are you okay?"

Another query that almost took him aback. He couldn't tell in what portion of okayness you were referring to, but if pertaining to his overall state, he told you, "There's a slight tension in my head, but that's all."

"Headache?"

"Yes."

You clipped a nod. "Your blood sugar level must be lower than the usual." It was an internal kind of headache, not caused by any external force. "You should grab food on your way home and drink more water, then sleep some more after."

"Huh . . . Okay," he only uttered dismissively.

Having no other follow-up questions, you watched him treading out of the infirmary.

Nanami found it quite ironic. You were telling him to take care of his health when you were not even minding your own. Must be nice having a limitless life.

His thoughts were running faster than physical actions, and he put himself to your position—as much as his understanding of the facts allowed—but he was unable to grasp the real who you are. He was actually mulling over the words he unleashed before he went unconscious, and it branched out as a compelling sense of remorse. Nanami was convinced that you were going to leave him to death, but it appeared that you still healed him—even the countless people who altered as curses. Thus he imagined himself oscillating in the sea, adrift on shifting waves. Contrite as he was, he let go to what frail judgment he offered.

"Say," he approached again, pivoting his whole body to look back.

Nanami saw how you snatched a book from the shelf and jumped to bed with loud creaks.

"What?" you replied sheepishly, not expecting him to talk to you again (so you decided to enjoy your free time in the infirmary).

"I've said some unkind words to you, and I apologize." And he bowed his head down as an attestation of kind candor.

You have no compassion, only a calloused heart.

True, it struck a negative impression to you, but you didn't mind. In you lifetime, it wasn't the first time you heard it, and there were way worse words you received.

"It's okay," you replied with a slight grin on your lips while your eyes were drawn on the book, "I don't take words seriously."

"I'm aware," he said, "but still . . ."

You glanced at him to study his though process in a mere second and concluded: Guilt, huh? What a righteous person.

"If you're asking why I healed you when I had the reasons not to . . . Uh, well, maybe because it's my job?" You shrugged loosely, flipping a page on your book. "But mostly, it's my way of thanks to you."

"Thanks?" he repeated, confused.

"You helped me, remember?" You frowned.

And he also frowned.

"Uh, you were there when I vomited; although you had no intention, you took care of me when I feel like shit. Also giving me a slip from psychoactive habits . . . You even bought me foods," you enunciated, very appreciative. "Those mundane things were not a part of your job, but you did, and it's enough for me to show my gratitude."

He looked at you, his eyes staying on you for a long moment. For a strange instant, there was a pulse of his blood faltered a little. It was just momentary—a single miss of a beat—hence, and in no time, it recovered its usual resilient pulse.

"I see," he only responded, his voice softened and the tension all over his body were washed away.

What a strange person, he thought. You had done enough more than he could. You saved his life, while he only did the bare minimum. A simple act of gratitude from the innocent was fulfilling enough to accept death without regret. Yet, you were considered a curse, but you held so much grasp to what being a human felt like. Then Nanami apprehended that you, who walked around the world—but still completely detached from the world—valued the small, little things.

All his life, he had been pursuing his missions a success, only to feel empty and think 'what's next?' minutes after finally achieving it, only to be given another another life-and-death mission. Your gratitude must be a good reminder that living every little thing of life was the standard.

Without saying another words, Nanami only titled his head to his left.

You read his nonverbal language. He'll be taking an off. Eyes still on the book, you raised a hand to bid a good-bye.

Nanami had set off, winding hurriedly through the chilly evening of Tokyo Jujutsu High. There would be still someone who was on duty to drive him to his condo unit. Might as well buy food along the way, drink his favorite brandy, continue his sleep (if his brain would allow him to), and face another morning sun tomorrow.

Your Saturday night in the infirmary ended uneventfully. On that Sunday morning, you were given another mission. By the time you accomplished it, as per usual, you returned to the Jujutsu High by the afternoon. Gojo greeted you, then informed you that your new unit and car was ready and gave you the keys.

As if every exhaustion your bloodstream got erased, exchanging it with joy.

Wasting no more seconds, you rode the car and drove it to the same building as the yesterday: Novus Skyscraper.

Gojo even told you that all of stuff you needed in house were already complete and you wanted to check it out that instant.

Upon reaching the seventh floor, you walked on the hallways looking for Room 78. Thus, you found it, stood in front of it, fishing the key card from your wallet, and unlocked the door.

You were about to enter when someone from next door exited.

It came as a natural instinct to look at your fellow neighbor.

And you almost dropped your keys.

"Eh?"

"Eh?"

The two of you said synchronously.

It was quite strange, especially how quiet things had gotten.

They gazed at each other, before the short distance between them became seeming too wide, you spoke to him in a form of greeting, "So, you live here in this building?"

"Uh-huh, apparently next to yours as well."

A sarcastic notion was heard between his sentence.

Nanami looked different now from his usual working attire. His hair was down, he was wearing a muted grey color cardigan and a pair of reading glasses

"And we're neighbors, huh?" It was a statement, and you had qualms about it. You saw his near-perceptible recoil, seemingly not liking the idea. To explain further that it wasn't your fault, you said, "It's a deal Gojo and I made, and he said that he has an unit here, so I didn't know it right next to yours."

Nanami wanted to regard it as a coincidence, but hearing that it was Gojo's masterful work, his frown escalated even more. "No one lived there not until today," he said.

You blinked twice, surprised how this happening was so scripted. "Oh, it sucks having known the Gojo Satoru, ain't it?"

"I wish you didn't say," Nanami only sighed with a slight roll in his eyes.

"I'm expecting to see you more often, Nanami Kento-san."

He didn't reply, for he wouldn't accept it otherwise.

Chuckling, you only entered the unit. You could only romanticize the place. Soft bed, great cityscapes, luxury living . . . Only to be crushed underneath your feet because you still have another night duty in the infirmary.

You sighed as you collapsed onto the bed, wishing that you didn't have to go to work anymore.

IM FAKEN ALIVE BITCHES !!!

i just missed nanami so much
so i decided to return for this
week, and be ia again for more
than a year lmaooo my main
focus is in my itachi uchiha fic
and i desperately want it done
but recently, im not feeling it
so i returned to nanamin's arm

AHHHHH

im a cheater im sorry
pls don't tell nanami

bye

this is written so faken ugly
lawl i've been saying this a lot
but i really am deteriorating as
a writer. i still won't quit now;
i can still bear it

- handthe;rend -