Plum rains

June arrived, and so did the rainy season.

It had rained for five straight days, with no sign of stopping. The buildings of Jujutsu High became blurred gray outlines behind the curtain of rain. The corridors grew damper, towels stayed wet after hanging all day, and the bedding felt cold and clammy to the touch. The first thing Suguru Geto did every morning was walk to the window and draw the curtains, only to find the same gray-white sky and straight lines of falling rain as yesterday.

He began to understand why some cursed spirits grew more active during the rainy season. Human patience, stamina, and emotions slowly softened and lost their shape through the long stretch of rain, like paper soaking in water. Those were the things cursed spirits fed on.

On Wednesday afternoon, the rain eased a little.

The sound of raindrops against the window softened from a clatter to a patter. Suguru Geto sat in his dorm room with a half-read book open before him, but his attention was elsewhere. He was listening to the rain. It had a rhythm, a cadence, rises and falls, like a song without lyrics. As he listened, he forgot to turn the page.

There was a knock at the door.

Suguru Geto closed his book, stood, walked to the door, and opened it.

Satoru Gojo stood outside.

He wore a light gray T-shirt and black trousers. Instead of being slicked back with gel as usual, his hair fell naturally over his forehead, partly covering his eyebrows. He wasn't wearing sunglasses, leaving his blue eyes exposed. In his hand was a convenience store bag with rain-soaked corners.

"Did you get caught in the rain again?" Suguru Geto asked.

"No," Satoru Gojo said, walking into the room and setting the bag on the desk. "I used an umbrella."

Suguru Geto glanced at his clothes. There was a small dark patch on the shoulder of his T-shirt, and his hair was wet too.

"Did you go out shopping?"

"Yeah." Satoru Gojo began taking things out of the bag. Two cans of coffee, a bag of sliced bread, a carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, two sausages, a cup of instant noodles, and a bag of instant miso soup packets. He arranged them on the desk one by one, as though performing some sort of ritual.

"What did you buy all this for?" Suguru Geto asked, puzzled by the pile on the desk.

"To make food."

Suguru Geto looked at him. Satoru Gojo looked back. They held each other's gaze for two seconds.

"You can cook?" Suguru Geto asked.

"No."

"Then why did you buy all this?"

"To learn."

Suguru Geto looked over the pile again. The bread was sliced, the eggs came in a carton, the sausages were ready to eat, and the noodles came in a cup that only needed hot water. The miso soup packets were instant too: tear one open, empty it into a bowl, and add boiling water. None of this required any cooking skills, just the ability to boil water.

"What are you planning to learn?" Suguru Geto asked.

Satoru Gojo took the last item out of the bag. A cooking magazine. He opened it to a page and pointed at the photograph. Suguru Geto leaned closer. It showed an ordinary-looking bowl of miso soup with tofu, seaweed, and chopped scallions, steam rising from the pale, milky broth.

"This," Satoru Gojo said.

"Miso soup?"

"Yeah."

"You bought a whole bag of instant packets just to learn to make miso soup?"

Satoru Gojo picked up the bag of instant packets, examined it, then put it down again.

"Those are a backup," he said. "If I mess up, we'll still have soup."

Suguru Geto fell silent for a few seconds, then took the magazine from him and studied the recipe. Tofu, seaweed, miso, scallions. None of them required complicated preparation. Cube the tofu, soak the seaweed, chop the scallions, and dissolve the miso in hot water. All the steps together would take no more than ten minutes.

"You didn't buy tofu," Suguru Geto said.

Satoru Gojo looked down at the things on the desk.

"Forgot."

"Or seaweed."

"..."

"Or miso."

Satoru Gojo pulled the magazine out of Suguru Geto's hands, flipped through it, checked the ingredients list, then closed it and put it back in the bag.

"I'll go buy them," he said, turning to leave.

Suguru Geto reached out and caught his arm. The sleeve of Satoru Gojo's T-shirt was soft, the small rain-dampened patch clinging coolly to his skin. Through the fabric, Suguru Geto's fingers felt the warmth of his arm, a little warmer than normal body temperature. Perhaps it was because he'd just come in from outside. Perhaps he was always like this.

"It hasn't stopped raining," Suguru Geto said.

"Hasn't it let up?"

"It's still raining."

Satoru Gojo looked out the window. It was indeed still raining. Though lighter than before, it hadn't eased enough for someone to walk around outside without an umbrella and not get soaked. He glanced at his arm. Suguru Geto's hand was still resting there, as though trying to keep him, or hesitating over whether to let go.

"Then we'll use the packets," Satoru Gojo said.

Suguru Geto let go.

Satoru Gojo went to the desk, picked up the instant miso soup packets, tore them open, and emptied them into two bowls. Then he picked up the thermos and poured in hot water. The powder dissolved quickly, turning the broth a pale, milky white. Dehydrated pieces of seaweed and tofu slowly unfurled in the hot water, while chopped scallions floated to the surface and spread out.

The whole process took less than thirty seconds.

Satoru Gojo lifted one bowl and took a sip. Then he set it down, his expression flat.

"How is it?" Suguru Geto asked.

"Average."

Suguru Geto lifted the other bowl and took a sip. Salty, savory, not bad, but nothing special. Compared with the miso soup in the cafeteria, it lacked something. Perhaps the texture of fresh ingredients, perhaps the warmth of the hands that made it.

"It's all right," Suguru Geto said.

Satoru Gojo glanced at him, then lifted his bowl and drank it all in one go. He set the empty bowl on the desk, picked up the cooking magazine, and flipped through it again.

"I'll buy tofu tomorrow," he said.

"It might still be raining tomorrow."

"Then the day after."

Suguru Geto said nothing. Holding the bowl, he slowly finished his miso soup. It was no longer hot, just warm, and as it slipped down his throat, it briefly warmed his stomach. He set the empty bowl on the desk beside Satoru Gojo's.

Outside, the rain grew louder again. The patter became a clatter.

"Satoru. What made you want to make miso soup today?" Suguru Geto asked.

Satoru Gojo leaned back in the chair, his hands laced behind his head, and gazed at the ceiling.

"Dunno," he said. "Just felt like it."

Suguru Geto watched him. Satoru Gojo's profile was clear beneath the light: the line of his nose, the contour of his jaw, the faint upward curl of his lips. His hair fell over his forehead, partly covering his eyebrows and making him look softer than usual. Everything about him was soft as he sat there, his feet propped on the edge of Suguru Geto's bed.

"Have you ever had miso soup someone made for you?"

Suguru Geto thought about it. Who made it? He couldn't remember. Perhaps his mother, perhaps a woman in the cafeteria, perhaps someone whose name he'd forgotten. He only remembered that the soup had been hot, that he'd blown on it for a long time before drinking it, and that his stomach had stayed warm long afterward.

"I have," he said.

"Who made it?"

"I don't remember."

Satoru Gojo nodded and asked nothing more.

The rain continued. On and on it clattered. Suguru Geto walked to the window. Rainwater streamed from the eaves and splashed against the sill, a few cool drops landing on his fingers.

"The tofu for tomorrow. Soft or firm?"

Suguru Geto gazed out at the rain for a while.

"Soft," he said.

"Okay," Satoru Gojo said.

Suguru Geto didn't move. It was still raining, and the rain was loud, but he could hear Satoru Gojo's breathing perfectly clearly. Light, steady, slow.

He turned and saw Satoru Gojo still sitting in the chair, his posture barely changed. His eyes were closed, his breathing light, his head tilted slightly to one side, as though he were dozing.

Suguru Geto returned to the desk, picked up the cooking magazine, and opened it to the miso soup recipe. It read: cube the tofu, soak the seaweed, chop the scallions, and dissolve the miso in hot water. The steps were simple, with no complicated techniques or tricks that required experience to master. Follow the instructions, and you could make a drinkable bowl of miso soup.

He read for a while, then closed the magazine and set it back on the desk.

"Satoru," he called.

Satoru Gojo didn't respond. He was asleep.

Suguru Geto stood by the desk, watching his face. Sleeping Satoru Gojo and waking Satoru Gojo were not the same person. Awake, Satoru Gojo was an unsheathed blade, sharp and dazzling, impossible to look straight at.

Suguru Geto took a blanket from the wardrobe, unfolded it, and gently draped it over Satoru Gojo. His eyelashes fluttered when it settled over his shoulders, but he didn't wake. His breathing remained just as light, just as steady, just as slow.

Suguru Geto returned to the window and sat down, leaning against the frame as he watched the rain outside.

It was still raining.

He didn't know when he fell asleep.

When he woke, the rain had stopped.

Satoru Gojo was awake too, sitting in the chair with the blanket over his knees and the cooking magazine open in his hands.

"What time is it?" Suguru Geto's voice was a little hoarse.

Satoru Gojo checked his phone.

"Five thirty."

"Morning or evening?"

"Evening."

Suguru Geto straightened and stretched his neck. Sleeping against the window frame all afternoon had left it stiff. He turned his head, hearing a faint series of cracks.

Satoru Gojo closed the magazine, stood, folded the blanket, and set it on the chair.

"Come on. Let's eat."

Suguru Geto stood and followed him out of the dorm room. The corridor lights were on. The one that used to flicker had been repaired and now shone steadily, lighting the walls a bright white. As they passed beneath it, Suguru Geto glanced up, then kept walking.

There weren't many people in the cafeteria. Yu Haibara sat in a corner with a serving of ginger pork, picking out the strips of ginger with his chopsticks and setting them on a small plate. When he saw them come in, he waved. Shoko sat beside him with a bowl of udon, adding so much chili that the broth had turned red.

Suguru Geto got a serving of grilled fish and carried his tray to the seat opposite Haibara. Satoru Gojo sat beside him with a plate of curry rice and began eating.

"Where did you go this afternoon?" Haibara asked. "I went to your room, but you weren't there."

Suguru Geto picked up a piece of grilled fish and put it in his mouth.

"I was in my room."

"But I knocked, and nobody answered."

Suguru Geto chewed his fish and swallowed.

"I was probably asleep and didn't hear."

Haibara looked at him, then at Satoru Gojo, before lowering his head and returning to his food.

Shoko finished her udon in its red broth, set down the bowl, took a sip of water, and looked at Satoru Gojo.

"Gojo, what's that on your shirt?"

Satoru Gojo looked down at his T-shirt. A small dark mark sat beside the collar. Suguru Geto took a closer look. It was instant miso soup, splashed onto him when he'd poured the hot water.

"Soup," Satoru Gojo said.

"What soup?"

"Miso soup."

Shoko looked at the little stain, then at Satoru Gojo, then at Suguru Geto. Her expression didn't change, but her eyebrows shifted slightly. Suguru Geto couldn't read it, that look somewhere between curiosity and understanding.

"Oh," she said, then stood and left with her tray.

Haibara had finished too. "I'll be going, then," he told Suguru Geto, before hurrying after Shoko. Once again, only Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo remained in the cafeteria.

"Satoru. Are you still making miso soup tomorrow?" Suguru Geto asked.

Satoru Gojo finished his last mouthful of curry rice and set down his spoon.

"Yeah."

"Remember to buy tofu this time."

"Soft," Satoru Gojo said.

Suguru Geto looked at him. Satoru Gojo looked back. The cafeteria lights shone brightly on their faces.

Suguru Geto lowered his head and went on eating his fish.

It had gone cold, but it was still delicious.

After dinner, they left the cafeteria. It was dark, and there was no moon to be seen. The air smelled of rain-soaked earth, mingled with the fresh scent of grass and flowers from somewhere in the distance. It felt good to breathe it in.