Chapter 8 – Sleep, Stranger
The first thing Xavier felt was warmth.
It wasn't the harsh heat of pain or fever—just a steady, weightless kind that wrapped his body like a memory. He opened his eyes slowly, and for a moment, didn't know whether he was awake or dreaming. The ceiling above him was wooden, old but polished, and a narrow line of morning sun crawled across it like a finger pointing nowhere.
The bed creaked when he shifted. His muscles screamed. His ribs protested.
He winced. Something sharp tugged behind his shoulder, low and deep, a reminder of how close he'd come to being torn open by something he didn't even understand. His fingers instinctively touched the edge of his shirt.
The flower tattoo on his right arm pulsed—faintly warm.
He didn't know if that was normal. Then again, nothing had been normal since the forest.
A knock—soft, deliberate.
He flinched upright, breath catching in his throat.
The door slid open just enough to reveal a pale face with tired brown eyes and hair clipped up with careless precision.
"Morning, mystery boy," Keiko said, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe. "You look like someone ran you over with a shrine."
Xavier blinked.
"Too soon?" she added.
He didn't answer. Just let his body slump back against the pillow. His head throbbed, but her voice anchored him a little.
Keiko stepped inside, her shoes whispering against the wooden floor. She wore a dark jacket over fitted scrubs, and a pair of fingerless gloves she seemed to fidget with whenever she wasn't talking.
"You were out cold for almost a full day," she said, glancing at a chart clipped to the bed's side. "No fever, no fractures. But you mumbled a lot in your sleep. Mostly nonsense. Some words I've never heard before."
"I talk in my sleep?" he croaked, voice like sandpaper.
"Oh yeah," she said, settling in beside the bed and tossing a wrapped rice cracker onto his lap. "Something about… 'California' and 'don't trust the chef.' You sure you're not concussed?"
Xavier tried not to smile, but it slipped through. Just barely.
"Where's Gojo?" he asked after a pause.
Keiko shrugged. "Somewhere probably not following the rules. He dropped you off, said you were a guest, told me not to ask questions, then disappeared like a ghost with a social media addiction."
Of course he did.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was just… quiet. Soft, even.
Xavier glanced around the room. It was small—clean, warm, spartan. But something was off. There were flowers on the windowsill that hadn't been there before. Wild ones. No vase. Just resting on the wood, perfectly placed. He didn't remember anyone putting them there.
"Those weren't there yesterday," Keiko said, noticing his stare. "You bleeding sunshine or something?"
Xavier didn't answer. He stared at the blooms, then at his hand. His fingers had stopped trembling, but his chest felt strange—hollow and heavy at the same time.
There was something forming in the air around him. He could feel it now, like he was sitting beneath a thundercloud just before the strike. It wasn't painful. Just aware. Watching.
Or maybe he was going crazy.
"Your tattoo's glowing," Keiko said quietly.
Xavier pulled his sleeve down without thinking. "It does that sometimes."
Keiko raised a brow but didn't push. "We've had cursed users walk these halls before. Special cases. Outcasts. But you? You don't feel like any of them. Even the building reacts to you."
He said nothing.
"You're not a sorcerer," she added, voice gentler now. "But something's… living in you. Or with you."
That word stuck. Living.
He looked down at his arm again. The ink had always been special to him. The memory behind it had meaning. And now, it responded. The flower wasn't just a mark anymore. It was a root.
"Hey," Keiko said, her voice cutting the fog. "You ever going to tell me where you came from?"
Xavier's lips twitched. "I'm from California."
"Is that a cursed region or just cursed traffic?"
"Depends on the day."
Keiko laughed—an actual laugh—and sat back, clearly surprised by the sound she made.
Xavier didn't laugh with her, but he didn't pull away either. For a second, it felt like he wasn't a freak. Just a guy with sore ribs and a girl sitting beside him with too many questions.
"You're going to have to choose a side eventually," she said softly. "Whatever's inside you—it's already changing things."
"Things?"
"People. Spaces. The air. Some of the older students won't come near your room. One girl got a nosebleed just walking past the door. Another said it felt like something was crawling under her skin."
Xavier swallowed hard.
"They're scared of you," she added. "But I'm not."
He looked at her then, really looked. She was watching him like she meant it. Like she'd already made her decision.
And for some reason, that scared him more than the whispers.
"I didn't ask for this," he said.
"No one ever does."
Keiko stood and stretched. "Rest up, stranger. The world's not going to wait for you to catch your breath."
She moved to the door, then paused.
"Oh, and… the flowers you're growing? They're not normal."
"What do you mean?"
"They hum."
And with that, she slipped out.
---
On the rooftop above the medical wing, Gojo sat on the edge of the building, one leg dangling off the side, arms behind his head.
He wasn't smiling.
His blindfold was pulled down over his eyes, but his attention was focused—sharp as glass.
He could feel it.
Not cursed energy. Not even the absence of it.
This was something else.
Something new.
And for the first time in years, Satoru Gojo felt something like uncertainty.
Not fear.
But the kind of quiet realization that a storm wasn't coming—
It had already begun.