JJK: Hourglass - CH2

I awoke to quiet and warmth. 

Groaning, I blinked away the lingering haze of sleep and groggily sat up, stretching. The window of the room was open, revealing a sunny day. Noon, if I had to guess. 

It’s been a week since… Well, everything happened, and to this day, I still couldn’t remember a thing.

Not a single thing.

The old man had started to call me Nanashi, why? Well, seeing I had no name, he said it would be best for all of our sakes to have something to call me by. It made sense, I mean, I was getting kind of tired of being called kid, or brat, so, the name was a welcomed change of pace. 

“Well, time to get ready for work,” I yawned and stretched, making a few joints pop in quiet protest, reminding me of the strenuous activities the old man had loaded upon my shoulders. It appeared he believed hard work could jog a memory just as well as time could. All jokes aside, I was happy to help the old man with his business, he had a small restaurant not too far away from his home, and by not too far I meant, literally below his house. 

First floor, restaurant, second floor house.

The place served ramen mostly, and my job there was basically to assist the old man in anything, from serving the food to cleaning the floors. 

The job wasn’t bad, to be honest. All things considered, the benefits were great, I could eat as much as I wanted, and would still get paid some money, whether that money was worth something or not, I had no idea. Somehow, I knew how to speak perfect Japanese, but not how much a Yen was worth, either way, I was happy with the arrangement I had with the old man, I had free food, a room to stay in, life was good.

Sure, I had nothing to compare it to, due to obvious problems, but what can you do about it? I mean, it sure beat the alternative of wandering the streets with no purpose, food, or place to call home. 

Slipping out from under the lightweight futon, I padded across the clean tatami flooring and made my way to the small closet where my work clothes hung, a plain white shirt and black pants that had seen better days. They were comfortable though , and that's what counted in the hustle of the restaurant. Wasting no time, I slipped them on and tied the apron around my waist, before running out of the door and down to the first floor of the house.

The old man was already working in the kitchen when I entered, his hands moving with a fluidity and grace that could only come from decades of practice. A large pot simmered on the stove, steam swirling into the air, filling the space with the rich scent of broth. 

He looked up as I entered and gave me a nod, the closest thing to a morning greeting I'd come to expect from him. He was a totally different guy when it came to working, outside work he was always joking, and such, but inside the restaurant he was ultra serious.

“Good, you're awake,” He said, his voice rough but not unkind. "We have a busy day ahead of us. Today is two for one Friday, that always brings the crowds.” He gestured towards a pile of fresh ingredients on the counter. “Start prepping the green onions and mushrooms, will you? We need to be ready before the rush hits.”

I nodded, grabbing a knife from the magnetic strip on the wall and set to work. I wasn’t by any means as good as the old man doing these things, but I had to admit, he was an excellent teacher. When I started a week ago I couldn’t cook a fried egg without fearing the might of the oil striking back at me for daring to test it, but now? I was pretty much desensitized to oil burns, and such.

As I focused on chopping the vegetables, carefully slicing through the green onions and mushrooms, the sound of the front door opening caught my attention. I glanced up briefly, expecting perhaps an early customer or a delivery, but instead, my eyes landed on a white haired/shades wearing man who carried himself with an air of casual confidence that seemed to fill the small space of the restaurant.

Without hesitation, he took a seat at one of the worn but clean tables, his shades covered gaze sweeping across the room with an unreadable expression. The old man, who had been focused on the simmering pot, looked up and acknowledged the newcomer with a nod. 

"Give me whatever's good today," the man said, his voice calm and assured. He didn't bother looking at the menu, instead choosing to place his trust in the old man's culinary skills.

The old man simply grunted in response, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he turned to grab a bowl from the shelf.

As I continued with my task, the man's gaze eventually landed on me, and he observed my work with a seemingly casual interest. After a moment, he broke the silence, addressing me directly.

"You look new," he said, his tone friendly yet carrying an undercurrent of curiosity. "I'm Gojo Satoru." 

"Yeah," I replied, nodding. "I just started here not too long ago. You can call me, Nanashi." 

"Interesting name," Gojo commented, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. "It suits you."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was it a compliment or something else? But his demeanor didn't seem mocking; rather, it felt like he was interested in something about me, something I couldn’t quite see.

The old man placed a bowl of steaming ramen in front of Gojo, interrupting our brief exchange. Gojo thanked him with a nod and turned his attention to the meal, but not before giving me a look that seemed to say our conversation was far from over.

As Gojo Satoru began devouring his meal, occasionally giving appreciative nods towards the old man for the meal, I couldn't help but steal glances in his direction, curious about the man who seemed to effortlessly blend in and stand out all at once. It wasn't long before Gojo finished his meal, and it was here where I noticed him scribbling something on a piece of napkin, with a mischievous grin before sliding the napkin across the counter towards me.

Curiosity piqued, and hoping the guy wasn’t hitting on me, because as amnesic as I was, I didn’t swing that way. I unfolded the napkin to reveal what looked like a note passed between schoolchildren. Scrawled in a surprisingly terrible handwriting were the words, "Do you want to be kidnapped?" followed by two checkboxes, one next to "Yes" and another next to "Absolutely Yes!<3 OwO!" 

I blinked, turning to look at Gojo, who simply smiled, the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes as before. 

"I assure you, it's not what it sounds like.” Gojo commented, smiling at me.

“Oh, for a moment there I thought you were going to kidnap me,” I sighed, chuckling to myself.

“Oh, in that case, it’s exactly what it sounds like,” Gojo replied, and the next thing I knew… was that the world was fading into black.