Chapter Text
She hears it sneaking under the front door. Bass. A man laughing, something heavy crashing, followed by a cheer like it was deliberate.
Thumping? No, pulsating music echoing from the unit across the hall and slipping easily under the crack of her own door. The music was way too loud for the hour.
And the worst part about it? she had rounds at 7am... her neighbor couldn't be serious right now.
It had to be a condo-party, there was no other explanation. To imagine just one person, one human, one inconsiderate jerk was responsible for that inexcusable banging and crappy lo-fi mix was wild.
She couldn’t believe the garbage that was currently filtering uninterrupted through the (allegedly) triple-reinforced dry-wall of the Aurelian Condos.
It cost nearly a million to be on the penthouse floor of one of Tokyo's most luxurious high-end condos. Just to end up with a neighbor like that? She clicks her tongue against her teeth at the stupidity of it.
Nara lays face up in the dark of her room, eyes burning into the ceiling fan above. Its hum was barely audible over the melodic thump across the hall.
Her room is drowning in the scent of lavender; a last-ditch attempt at relaxation left in the hands of expensive essential oils and a desk-top air purifier.
She was once optimistic it'd help the throb that'd begun just behind her eyes…
…That was before the music had started. Two hours ago.
The hiss of the air purifier does nothing to relax her, its quiet hymn lost under the wrath of a high amp base.
It was probably going to last all night, the music and video games now, too. Just like yesterday, just like the night before.
She drops her arms down with an aggressive thud, fist balled up so tight that her knuckles have gone pale. The duvet cover catches the blunt of her rage, but she's still dissatisfied, thrusting herself up in the bed at once.
She tears the violet, silky sleep mask from her face. It flies somewhere unimportant, landing between the edge of her bed and nightstand.
Her hair is wild, shaken and disheveled, likely from the thrashing it’d done against her pillow over the last two hours.
She can't take it anymore. She scoots aggressively to the end of the bed, kicking the duvet off in one motion as she springs to her feet.
Her silky lingerie shorts and sleep-tank, also violet, have become wrinkled with defeat, top hanging too low and shorts riding too high.
She can't be bothered to adjust them right now. This isn't the time for perfection or performance; she needed to march across that hall and give that jerk a piece of her mind.
She tears the matching robe from her vanity chair and storms out of her room, bare feet thundering down the hall. She reaches her front door in record strides, shoving her feet into slippers with haste. A curse explodes from her lips as she rips the front door open.
The hallway was vibrating from the bass coming from across the hall.
Nara immediately sees red. Hot air flees from her nose as she marches forward a few feet and hammers on the door three times... loudly.
Why am I not surprised? She thought.
Now it was obvious why this unit had been vacant for nearly a year. And of course this is why the real estate agent had looked almost relieved when she'd said yes, just a little too eager and too quick to hand over the keys. Like he'd been afraid she might come to her senses and run off.
She didn’t know the neighbor across the hall had a reputation for noise complaints, coming and going at strange hours and other minor infractions. He was a nuisance, she was slowly discovering.
She pushes back the cuffs on her robe like she is gearing up for something other than a friendly reminder of the condos code-of-conduct. She knocks again sharper than the last time with the back of her knuckles.
The door opens immediately.
Oh, he's tall. Irritatingly so.
He's barefoot in a black sweat-suit combo, hoodie slipping off one shoulder like it never bothers to stay put, anyways. White hair, messy undercut, black shades on (indoors?) and a grin that suggests consequences are a foreign concept to him. It pisses her off even more.
“Do you own headphones?” she snaps, tongue striking lightning-quick.
Nara has a look of bewilderment as she glares at the man with arms folded so tightly across her breast, it floats them right under her chin.
Gojo stares.
He blinks like he just remembered something or didn't quite hear what she said. She can’t tell.
His eyes do a rapid assessment from up to down cataloguing as much as they can from the top of her bust to the hem of those silky little purple shorts.
His smile gets wider. “Wow. Hi. You must be the new neighbor. I'm Gojo.”
“You must be the reason why this unit was empty.” It falls from her mouth before she can catch it, so sharp.
She promised herself that she'd try to be more personable at her new place, but this was absurd and inexcusable behavior for a resident of such a prestigious condo, let alone a tenant on the penthouse floor.
He laughs, genuinely entertained by her reaction. His eyebrows raise. “Harsh. I was gonna say welcome to the building. Have you had a tour yet?”
“It's nearly three in the morning, Gojo. Sorry, is it okay that I call you that?” She mocked, sarcasm dripping like gasoline from her hot mouth. Gojo's smile curves a bit.
“Of course, I insist... Actually I-
“Wonderful, great. So, anyways, this is like the third night in a row that you've been, unfortunately, home and making a lot of noise. Your music, the video games, the television. It's really loud. You're keeping me up.”
Her tone is devoid of patience like she was talking to an absolute imbecile. It makes Gojo's eyes widen with intrigue. No civilian has ever spoken to him like that before.
“I'll keep it down,” he says easily, hands up and posturing innocence she doesn't believe he has. “Promise. And if I don't, you can come over here anytime and hold me to it.” His smile sharpens.
"Pfft, whatever," She spits out, pivoting back toward her door. Gojo’s eyes drift downward as she turns. His head tilts curiously.
Doesn't matter if you do, because I'm still reporting you, asshole, she grumbles internally to herself.
As she turns, her hospital badge that was clipped (for some reason) to her robe sways and catches the bright hallway light. Gojo’s eyes drop without permission again.
White plastic. Pretty obvious hospital issue just by the logo and crest.
His eyes zero in on the black lettering, an apparent stacked title sits proudly:
IGARASHI, NARA, M.D., ATTENDING SURGEON, TRAUMA,
TOKYO MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
Not a Resident. Not a Fellow. Attending.
She storms across the hall, rips open her door and turns to hurl one last glare in the man’s direction. Then, she's gone. The door is slammed shut and the deadbolt is turned, a metallic clink punctuating an end to their first encounter.
Satoru Gojo stands in the hallway a moment longer than necessary. He blinks once, then twice.
That was his new neighbor? What a bitch.
Amazing ass– really, but that attitude majorly sucked. Plus, he had a feeling she was going to report him. He rolls his eyes at that.
So, his new neighbor was a doctor– a surgeon. That explains the edge.
He imagines her working all day and night, long hours, no social life. Which probably also meant no one was around to take care of that feisty kitty when she was feeling pent up.
Which also, was likely what was really chewing on her panties tonight, not the music.
Gojo shakes his head at her door, turns, and swings his own shut. Despite his soured mood at the dainty little hands of his next door neighbor, he turns the music down.
He really didn’t need another noise complaint…
One Month Later
Gojo's penthouse is luxury-minimalist to the point of suspicion.
Not easy to place on the occupation pyramid, one could only wonder what he did for a living to be a resident here and be so obviously well off.
His penthouse isn’t neat, but it's clean, more than likely maintained by housekeeping, despite never really being there to need it.
But tonight, he’s home and he has company. Geto and Nanami are over, his friends, fellow sorcerers and instructors at Jujutsu High.
Three barstools are pulled up to the marbled kitchen island. All-you-can-eat sushi containers are scattered and left open like someone was stuck between tidying up, and decided halfway through that they'll finish it off later. Probably Gojo.
He’s seated with a carton of strawberry milk, straw held tight between his teeth like this is a perfectly normal way to run a post-curse exorcism debrief.
Geto leans back in his stool, legs crossed, expression calm in that way it always was. He's listening more to what's not being said versus what's actually being said. Which was also the best way to approach a debrief with Gojo.
Nanami stands to the side, jacket close like he plans to leave before this devolves to something delinquent. ‘buzz-kill’, as Gojo would usually put it.
Gojo takes another pull from his drink and gestures with the carton. “So tell me again why it's my problem that Yuuji doesn't know when to shut up?”
Geto doesn't open his eyes. Instead, he exhales a stream of impatience from his mouth.
“Because you're the one who keeps throwing him at things that want to kill him.”
Nanami sighs, irritation rising. He adjusts his tie slowly, a usual sign that he's wrapping up. “To be fair, most things want to kill him.”
Gojo sighs deeply and waves them both off. “You both are dramatic.”
The conversation slides easily. The three discuss mission routes, timing windows, Sukuna's latest show of spite. It's familiar and effortless, the kind of talk between good friends and better comrades.
They discuss Nobara, Yuuji, Megumi and others. They talk about pairings and future assignments, who's ready and who's not. The usual stuff.
That’s when they hear it— ding.
It was the elevator. The sound pierces the corridor of the penthouse floor announcing the arrival of another.
It was obviously his neighbor. Gojo doesn't react. He continues to lewdly tongue the straw of his strawberry milk making obscene slurping sounds.
Geto hears the elevator chime. His eyes open and shift towards Gojo's front door, attention now focused beyond the solid wood. His eyebrows knit curiously.
They had many debriefs at Gojo's place and had never heard another resident on this floor.
Plus, he knew his friend’s tenant history... and flaws. The unit across the hall being vacant more often than not was the norm.
But the ding tonight? That meant someone else. Someone new. So, did Gojo have a new neighbor or did he forget he invited someone over. Geto waited patiently for the answer.
“Huh. Didn't think anyone else lived up here beside you, Satoru.” He finally says when he doesn't hear signs of life immediately. He leans back into the stool, legs uncrossing like he was suddenly interested in something.
Nanami checks his watch. “Who would be arriving at this hour? Has to be a party-goer”
Gojo draws another lazy sip from his chewed up straw. His eyes were half-lidded and he appeared tired of the conversation that’d begun.
“Someone moved in a little while ago, two months, I think.” He takes another lewd swig of his beverage.
“You didn't mention it,” Geto hummed.
A new neighbor usually would be something Gojo would mention. After all, they spoke everyday and hung out constantly, eating, drinking, they even made sure their teaching schedules overlapped.
“Didn't seem important,” Gojo replied without interest.
He pushed back from the counter top, rising to his feet and stretching. He folded his hands behind his head, surmising that most of what he said was true. Most of it.
Geto's mouth pulled slightly. He narrows his eyes skeptically at Gojo, “what’s the matter, Satoru, don't like the new neighbor? What, another bank executive?” He coos. Gojo rolls his eyes and slurps back the rest of the carton. He crushes it in his palm.
“She complained about the noise, I got a written warning.” Gojo remarked like it was a nuisance more than anything.
It did amuse him that she’d done it.
Seeing the look on the condo manager’s face when he’d had to knock on his door and hand deliver the notice. You would think that Gojo had all but actually punched him by the way the man had trembled and dropped into a low bow when the door opened.
Meeting your new neighbor for the first time and then proceeding to report them? Miserable girl.
He aims and shoots the empty milk carton into the garbage can.
Nanami's eyes slid to Gojo, mildly surprised at the man’s attempt to posture innocence knowing his track record with new neighbors. “You are the noise, Gojo.”
“Okay, what’s your point?” Gojo replied slowly, like it was a point in his favor. Nanami frowns at him.
Gojo waves a hand tiredly, dismissing the mystery-neighbor-talk once and for all.
“Listen, she's the busy type. Always coming and going, really late nights and really early mornings. So miserable, as you can imagine. To be honest, I think she lives at work. End of story.”
She. Geto hums. Well there it was, clear as day; the reason for Satoru Gojo's deception. His neighbor was a woman.
His mouth pulls into a bold display of condescend. He makes eye contact with Gojo, a silent look passing between them that said more than they would ever speak.
Gojo scoffs at the implication that gleamed in Geto’s eyes.
As if he could fuck that chick. That woman was outright unpleasant.
She never said good morning, never said good night, and she practically took off in the opposite direction if she thought that Gojo wanted to talk.
So, he stopped trying to. As far as he was concerned, she wasn’t worth the headache. Or additional complaints.
“Oh please, don't look at me like that. That girl isn't getting dick from anyone and sure as hell isn't getting it from me. Otherwise she'd be in a much, much better mood. That, I can assure you.”
Before Geto can offer a sarcastic rebuttal, another sound slips unmistakably through the door. It was the hum of a man's voice. It was low, intentional, like it was fighting to be considerate and losing. Badly.
Then, laughter. Female.
Not overly loud, or trying to be obvious... But definitely untamed and strikingly intimate against the silence of the floor.
The sound of staggered whimpering flooded the hall just outside Gojo's door. It was muffled, like someone was straining against a hand over their mouth. Or something in it.
Next, an urgent panting sound came.
It was quiet at first but slowly built like a subtle crescendo. Someone was becoming restless and impatient, clearly wanting more.
The whimpering began to string together, each whine quickly following the next. Moans coming out in soft ohhs and ahhs were muttered shyly by the woman in the hall, like she was too embarrassed to hear the sound of her own voice.
Gojo could hear all of it. Every breath, every whimper, every sound that came from someone’s body. He was listening with barely concealed interest behind his glasses.
This... was very unexpected behavior from the doctor across the hall. You mean to tell him the woman was actually alive and not devoid of emotion? And she actually had sex?
Nanami's brow lifts only a fraction, but it's all implying.
He removes his glasses and cleans them nonchalantly with the end of his tie. “It's nearly three in the morning,” He sounds like a disappointed father.
For all the women, sorcerers and civilians, who stared at Nanami every day, you'd think he'd be more desensitized to the sounds of human coupling.
Geto chuckles quietly, entertained at the reveal of a male companion. “Good for her. Monkeys need bananas, too.”
He tips his head, listening, but not prying. Just acknowledging the obvious that was filtering underneath the door.
The sound of heavy, sloppy kisses and something very, very wet filtered into Gojo's unit. Geto nods, “yeah, that sounds like company. The good type.”
It settles easily in the room of the three men.
They had all been there at some point after a messy night of rare banter, socialization and alcohol. None of them were seeing anyone exclusively, so hook ups were common, though far and few due to the demand of their sorcerer schedules.
But when there was opportunity, it was usually with other sorcerers. Sorcerers just understood the whole ‘hunting cursed spirits’ thing.
They understood the disappearing acts, months of stationed assignment, occasional life-altering injury, death...
Civilians though… Civilians were just for fun. Like reliable fast food. At least, that's how Geto saw them.
Gojo stifles a weak chuckle. It's dismissive. “Company? Doubt she’d have the time or the urge.”
Which was probably true. She was a doctor after all, and a miserable one at that.
Gojo double-downs on the version of the doctor he'd created in his mind. To consider the opposite would be for him to admit he was wrong, and he was never wrong. Especially not about this stuff.
“Rigid ones are usually the worst offenders,” Geto says lightly, taking a sip of tea Gojo had ill prepared. “Those are the real freaks at night.”
Gojo considers the idea but decides not to comment on it.
Nanami rolls his eyes at the conversation taking place. This was supposed to be a post-exorcism meeting and now they were gossiping about the woman across the hall and listening to her wanton moaning? Ridiculous.
“I don't see how this concerns us. We have more important things to discuss.”
Gojo ignores Nanami's attempt to redirect the meeting back to actual work.
“She avoids me like I've done something to her. I never see her, and when I do, she won’t even look at me or is running off to the elevator. She's weird as hell.” Gojo rolls his eyes. Even behind his glasses the aversion is clear.
“Maybe that's her way of flirting,” Geto replies, teasing him. He sensed a sore spot.
The doctor across the hall had truly gotten under Gojo's skin, which was an impressive feat given that Gojo was usually the one under everyone's skin.
Gojo snorts. “That isn’t flirting,” he leans across the marble counter, jaw slightly tight. He rejected the premise vehemently.
The woman cried out, her resolve pulled taut and trembling. There were several sharp inhales that followed next, fleeting and almost strained.
The woman's voice projects once more, a jumbled mess of, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” tumbling underneath Gojo’s door and taunting the men in the unit.
A man's voice overlaps the sweet whining his neighbor was doing. It makes Gojo scrunch his nose. Then, a door opens and closes. The hallway gets the last laugh.
He couldn't believe that his neighbor was screwing some random guy right across the hall. Loud enough too for Gojo's entire unit to hear.
Her boldness combined with the irony of it all agitated and interested him at the same damn time. This was not who he thought lived across the hall. He was surprised. He was honestly quite impressed.
More and more moaning rose above the men's attempt to redirect the conversation back to work.
Nanami tried to push through, Geto continued to listen to him, but Gojo was consistently drawn back to the front door, unable to truly focus beyond the sound of his neighbor's voice coming undone. She sounded so much different than he would've imagined. So much better.
He fought to listen to Nanami, he really tried, but his thoughts drifted.
He'd never really gotten the best look at her face the first time he’d met her, but he can still see the ghost of it now in his head, a silhouette of soft features.
He imagined her in this moment, skin flushed and goose-bumped, slick with a thin coating of sweat. He wondered how wide her pupils were and if her iris was a whisper against the ecstasy at its center.
What a thought, what a sight that must be, Gojo hums to himself. He almost doesn't believe it to be true.
But, when the filthy sound of skin slapping skin begins, Gojo has to work hard to suppress the urge to open his door.
Geto hums in amusement at the melodic sound. “Well. This is a productive night for someone, at least.”
“I'm leaving,” Nanami grabs his coat off the back of his stool and heads for the door, unwilling to remain any longer. “Those are the reports. Get your students to fill it out properly and resubmit it to me.”
He pauses, looking uneasily between the other two men and the door. He sighs deeply, dropping his head just a bit. Absolutely ridiculous.
Nanami leaves quickly. Ironically, once he does, the neighbors mewling ceases. Gojo imagines that her little hookup has either finished or she’s got her mouth full of something.
He ignores the thought. Who gave a crap anyways. The only impression that mattered was the one she was hell-bent on showing him the first time they met. Gojo didn’t care to revise that image of her.
But then he feels it through his perception. Her complete and utter undoing.
A pulse of her energy signature filters into his senses, uninvited. It catches him off guard and snags his attention in a way he can't quite place. Sure, fine, he was surprised at the doctor’s conduct tonight. That was it.
But, the fact that this psycho, control freak actually hooked up? And she might’ve had a boyfriend? It was like envisioning a whole different person. One he kinda wanted to know, now, too.
Did the good doctor-lady pencil in this moment in between things that actually mattered? How did she pass the time in between? Is she the scheduled fun type? Who was the guy with her?
Gojo's mind taunts him in a million different ways. Every thought unrelenting and more intrusive than the last.
The man was usually spot on with first impressions. After all, Six Eyes never lie.
And yet, he'd somehow been super off about this one. That really pissed him off.
“You good, Satoru?”
Gojo drew his attention back to his best friend who had been talking unknowingly to him for the last two minutes.
“Yeeeah, why?” Gojo drags out, his grin held tight in place. The gesture was deceiving.
“You checked out.” Geto raises his eyebrow at Gojo.
Gojo scoffs, sensing Geto’s curiosity. “Relax. I was thinking about training tomorrow. No need to be a freak like Nanami.”
Geto hums, unconvinced but decides to let it go.
Across the hall, the sounds have softened and faded, satisfaction probably achieved.
He turns away from the door, filing away the new updates about his neighbor. She was a stickler about the noise but more than happy to become a source of the pollution herself.
So, maybe not as much of a bore as he had originally thought.
Huh. He wondered what else he had gotten wrong about her.