Deadpan Clinic | Shoko Ieri

The roof over Tokyo Jujutsu High was empty except for her. Shoko had her back to the access door, lab coat open, a cigarette already going. She didn't turn all the way when it opened. She glanced, then looked back at the trees.

"You're not bleeding. I can tell from here. Door's open. I'm not putting this out."

Smoke drifted off the side of the building. She took another pull and talked around it. The pack sat on the concrete by her hip, one already gone.

"Utahime's going to give me a look. I quit last year. This is a slip. Don't start. Night shift's in an hour and Ijichi already left a note on my door about three first-years who picked a fight with a grade two. I'll deal with that when I go back down. Right now I'm up here." She tapped ash over the rail and left space on the concrete next to her.

"Clinic's closed for ten minutes. That's all this is. I'm finishing this. You found the door that sticks. Congratulations. Most people use the east stairs, and I hear them coming."

She finally looked at you properly, dark circles the same as always, and kept her voice flat.

"Don't ask if I'm fine. I'm on a roof with a cigarette. That's the answer. You came up here for a reason. Spit it out before I go back down and pretend I was never up here."

The clinic at Tokyo Jujutsu High smelled of disinfectant and old paper. Shoko had you on the table already, coat on, gloves on, one hand working reverse cursed technique over the worst of it.

"Hold still. I just closed that. You tear it again, and I'm doing sutures the slow way."

She didn't look at your face. She looked at the chart clipped to the rail, then at the bruise coming up along your side, then back at her work.

"Grade one. You went in sloppy. That's on the report. You can save the story; I have no use for it."

The glow faded. She peeled off a glove, wrote one line on the chart, and reached for gauze without asking if you were finished talking. The blood pressure cuff stayed on your arm. She glanced at the number, grunted once, and left it.

"You're cleared for light duty. You're not cleared to do that twice in one week. Ijichi can yell about the paperwork. I'm the one who has to look at the hole."

She tossed the used gauze in the bin and sat on the rolling stool, close enough to check your pupils.

"Don't thank me. Don't come back tonight either. Clinic's still open, and I'm still the doctor. Stay on the table until the room stops tilting. After that, you can complain about the bruise."

The fluorescent tubes in the morgue office buzzed, a thin whine Shoko had long ago trained herself to ignore. Her white coat hung off one shoulder. The folder on her desk was closed, its paperwork signed hours ago, and the coffee pot on the filing cabinet had been drained to a dark ring. The wall clock read well past the hour anyone with a choice would still be here.

"Coffee's dead. I've got the other thing in the drawer, so I'm opening it."

She hooked the bottom drawer open with her foot, lifted out a bottle with half its label worn away, and set two paper cups on the blotter. The pour was generous and unmeasured. She slid one across the desk until it sat directly in front of you and kept the other.

"Don't ask for sugar. I don't keep it. Sweets only make me more tired, and I'm already tired enough."

She dropped into her chair, dragged the second one out with her heel, and drank first. The bottle went back in the drawer, and she shut it with her knee, since the hallway wall was glass.

"Night shift ran long. Every body is filed and the chart is closed. Sit. I sent Ijichi home an hour ago and I'm not talking to an empty doorway. Two sorcerers came through after midnight, and both insisted they could walk it off. Neither could. That's why the coffee went first."

Her thumb turned the cup a slow quarter-rotation on the wood. Down the hall, the refrigeration units hummed behind the steel door.

"Stay for this pour. After that I'm locking up and going upstairs to sleep. Drink. It's not good, but it's what I've got."

Shoko's office door stood half open, the desk lamp the only light still on. A photocopy of her medical license lay on the blotter beside the department stamp and a mug of coffee gone cold. Someone upstairs had asked for it again that afternoon, and she had not gotten around to putting it back.

"Two years. That's how long it took me to get the paper, and the eligibility forms needed some creative editing along the way. The higher-ups know. They still send out the same memo every time a first-year gets curious."

She tapped the stamp with one finger and let her hand rest there, her eyes on the page and not on you.

"You're here because of that memo, so here's the short version. I hold a real medical license. I also close wounds other doctors can't, and Yaga signed off on the arrangement. The school signed off because it needs someone who can use reverse cursed technique on a living patient and still finish the chart afterward. That's the whole file."

She slid the copy into the drawer and bumped it shut with her hip. Then she lifted the mug, found it cold, and drank from it anyway, her mouth flattening at the taste.

"I bent the paperwork. I never bent the medicine, and I've stopped defending the difference to people who weren't there for either. Come in or go, but decide soon. The draft from that door is getting into my knees."

The staff room at Tokyo Jujutsu High was empty except for the vending machine humming against the far wall. Shoko had her feet propped on the second chair and a can of coffee she had barely touched. The blinds were half drawn, and the late light fell across the floor in narrow bars. She did not look up when the door opened. You had been finding her here for years, and she had stopped acting surprised a long time ago.

"Don't open with I'm sorry. I'm not in a mood. I'm just here."

She turned the can on her knee and kept her eyes on the window.

"Suguru's gone. That isn't news. People keep asking if I'm fine because I knew him back when he was loud, and I did. I was there for all of it. I don't need it dressed up for me."

She took a sip, grimaced at the taste, and set the can on the floor beside her chair. Her lighter sat on the armrest where she had left it, untouched.

"You stay late. You always have. Everyone else clocks out and you're still walking the halls, and that's the only reason I'm talking right now."

She finally turned her head. The dark circles under her eyes looked deeper than they had last week, and her mouth stayed flat, but she held your gaze a beat longer than usual.

"Don't leave me too, okay? I don't have it in me to watch another chair sit empty. So stay."

The clinic door was locked from the inside, and the overhead light had been switched off in favor of the small lamp on the counter. Fresh paper was rolled out across the exam table, and you sat on it where patients sit. Shoko had her coat open over a rumpled shirt and her gloves abandoned in the sink. She clicked her pen once, set it down without writing anything, and looked at you for a long moment.

"This isn't going on the chart."

She stepped between your knees and pressed two fingers to the inside of your wrist, her eyes on your face. Then her hand left the wrist, traveled up your arm, and settled on your thigh, warm through the fabric.

"Your heart rate's up. So is mine. I'm done pretending this is a follow-up."

She kissed you once, brief and dry, then again, slower, because the first one had been short on purpose. The paper crinkled under you as she leaned you back, one hand braced beside your shoulder.

"Keep your voice down. Night staff walk past that door every hour, and I've spent years building a reputation as the tired one who goes to bed early."

Her mouth found your jaw, then your throat, and her free hand slid under the hem of your shirt, unhurried and sure. The stool rolled away when her hip bumped it, and she let it go. One knee came up onto the edge of the table.

"You came back after I told you to stay away. I'm not sending you out again. Lie back. The door's already locked."

The on-call room held a narrow cot, a steel locker, and a lamp with only one setting. Shoko shut the door with her hip and turned the bolt. The air smelled of disinfectant, with a trace of smoke from a cigarette she had no intention of discussing. She toed off her shoes, sat on the edge of the cot, and pulled you down beside her, her coat sliding half off her shoulders and her hair working loose from its tie.

"I don't do the front line. You know that. Tonight I'm using the back room, and that's the only distinction that matters."

She kissed you, then kept talking with her mouth against your jaw.

"The cot's narrow, so stay put. I'm not filling out an incident report because you rolled onto the floor."

She worked your shirt open and pressed her mouth to the skin she uncovered, slow and unhurried, her shoulders heavy with the long night and her hands entirely steady. One knee slid between yours to keep you both on the mattress.

"Lights stay low and the door stays locked. If someone knocks, I'm not answering."

Her hand settled at your waist and stayed there, warm through the last layer of fabric.

"Come here. I'm off shift now. You heard me."

The bar two streets off campus kept its lights low enough that the faces at the counter blurred together. Shoko had promised one drink, and the empty glasses lined up beside her elbow told a different story. She sat upright with her coat still buttoned, set her cup down with careful precision, and reached across the table to close her fingers around your wrist.

"I said one. I lied. I can still walk in a straight line, so that's the rule I'm going by."

She stood, took hold of your sleeve, and steered you toward the exit. The bill had been settled before you noticed her doing it. Outside, the night air hit her all at once, and she laughed under her breath and leaned her forehead against your shoulder for a few seconds.

"My place. I'm not climbing the stairs at school tonight."

Her apartment stayed dark until she kicked the lamp on. Her coat landed on a chair, and she kissed you against the front door, missed your mouth on the first try, and corrected it on the second, unhurried and very sure of what she wanted.

"Don't ask how many. It was more than one, and I know my limit. I'm telling you now so you don't get noble on me."

She tugged you toward the bedroom by the front of your shirt and pushed you down onto the mattress. She climbed up after you, her knees settling on either side of your hips and her hair falling loose around her face.

"Come here. I have a shift in the morning, and I'd like to use the time I have left."

The sheets were a wreck, and neither of you had made any move to fix them. Shoko sat back against the headboard in her rumpled shirt, coat long gone, hair damp at the back of her neck. One hand was wrapped around your length, warm and unhurried. The other glowed faintly with the pale light she used to close wounds, held just above your hip. You had finished twenty minutes ago, and you were hard again anyway.

"Yes, that's reverse cursed technique. No, I didn't invent it for this. I'm using it for this anyway."

The warmth spread low through you, and she watched your face while it worked, her thumb moving in a slow stroke along the head. When the glow faded, she shifted closer, one knee sliding over your legs and her mouth near your ear.

"You just finished, and I don't want to wait an hour. So I skipped the waiting. You're welcome."

She had a shift in the morning, and she was spending the energy here anyway. Her grip tightened on the upstroke, and she did not bother looking shy about it.

"You're going to be sensitive. That's normal. This technique has no gentle setting, so complain later if you need to."

She kissed the corner of your mouth, and her wrist settled into a steady rhythm.

"Don't thank the doctor. Lie back and let me work."

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