《前塵卷》<the scroll of the previous lives>

「faces hidden in smoke and mist
soothe away the annoying rainy day.」

You're five-years-old when Geto Suguru betrays Jujutsu Tech. But you don't understand. All you know is that he left.

You see the unknown emotion swirling in Gojo, and although you can't see his eyes, you see how his body is always tense, how his mind always seems to be somewhere else. Most of all, you see how lonely he is.

Gojo was kind to you in his own weird way. He bought you sweets, bought you new scrolls and brushes and ink to paint with. He painted with you sometimes (you realised rather quickly art was not his strong suit), and he played with you. He was like a big brother.

You've seen him before Geto left, and you've seen him after. You know the before and after, so you know how he's changed. He's hurt. Not a physical wound, but one which would never be healed; a wound of the soul.

You're five-years-old when you learn what grief is.

Every night for the past week you've been sitting and staring at the stars. Gojo learned by the third day that if no one came to make sure you slept, you wouldn't sleep at all.

Life is a fickle thing. A blink of an eye, and you could be dead. Upon the realisation of that, some may decide to make the most out of their life, while others may decide that life was not worth its fickleness. You, on the other hand, ponder that fickleness.

A five-year-old child shouldn't be worrying theirselves of such a matter, but how could you not when you're thrust into a world where life was far more fragile than the others?

On the eighth night, after Yaga-sensei leaves, you sit up on your bed and look at the stars outside your window once more, and you get to work.

At five-years-old, you paint your first human.
At five-years-old, you gift your first painting.
At five-years-old, you see Gojo break down.

You hadn't seen Gojo in a few days.

Was he mad at you? You didn't mean to make him cry. You just thought that maybe having a painting of his friend would make him miss him less, but it seemed that that thinking was wrong. Maybe you should've cried and let your tears stain the scroll so that he would be brought to life? If that was even possible.

You sit on your bed, legs brought up to your chest. Your paintbrush rests in your hand that lays limply by your side, and your other hand is draped lazily over your knees. You're staring off into space.

There was a voice in your dream last night. You didn't understand most of what it was saying. It spoke gently, words carefully picked out, but what good are such words to a child?

However, one question stood out to you.

"Have you ever heard of the yoji-jukugo* 'Kachou Fuugetsu'?" You shook your head, but it sounded familiar.

"It literally means Flower, Bird, Wind, Moon. Its actual meaning is 'experience the beauties of nature, and in doing so learn about yourself'." You blinked, nodding.

"Okay." You shrugged.

"When you're older, you'll understand. For now, keep this in the back of your head. When the time is right, you will know."

Would you be able to remember that phrase for so long? Maybe if you wrote it down it would help.

You jumped off your bed and took out a scroll, manifesting ink by your side. You dip your brush in, and this time, you allow the paintbrush to guide you.

yoji-jukugo (四字熟語) - a set of four kanji strung together to create one powerful meaning.