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Recovering society was not easy, and it was not fair. Higuruma and the rest of their survivors learned this in the harshest way, when they rounded and collected the bodies of everyone lost during the showdown. He remembers how the blood had curdled on the floor, and that the fists of Sukuna's victims remained clenched even in death, like the fight lay rooted deep inside them. Some still felt warm. It made Higuruma's chest throb with anger, and injustice, as he helped Shoko adjust the sheets to cover them from head and toe. She looked weary, and he wanted to tell her how hard they had tried, because it was true. But he knew himself no amount of words would cement the hole everyone felt. Maybe that was good. Shinjuku was impossible to forget.
Higuruma had stood with the rest of them as they laid the bodies to rest. It had been something simple, and small, in the daytime. Thank you for your efforts, they had said, Nothing you did for us was without success. Bits of colourful debris had been scattered around, and if Higuruma closed his eyes, he could think they were flowers, and that everyone was alive. When he opened them again, he felt Itadori tremble against where he was pressed to his side. His face had crumpled, tears spilt over dirty cheeks, and he had his lip firmly tucked between his teeth as if his grief would stunt everyone else's. As if he wasn't allowed to share in his pain. Higuruma was lost for what to do, as he had been many times, but he slipped his hand from where it was pinned to stroke the little curls of Itadori's hair that stuck to his face with sweat. When the boy whimpered, he pulled him into his chest and squeezed him tight as you would a crying child. Because that's just what Itadori was. Too young to have experienced the haunt.
Higuruma hadn't felt peace in the weeks that they had spent planning and training, always keeping two steps ahead of Sukuna and never being able to not look behind. Now, lying tangled with Kusakabe at a time that he called much more than morning, bedsheets warm with sun and Higuruma's hand rising where it rested on Kusakabe's chest, it felt strange to have full concentration on him. Now, he can see the litany of pale scars across his back from where he had jumped to defend him in the battle, and the stubble grazing his jaw because he'd had so much time to do nothing that shaving was so low on the priority list. When Kusakabe stirs, narrowing his eyes at Higuruma, he simply smiles and presses a kiss to the bristle. He loves Kusakabe regardless.
"You're not planning on getting up," he grumbles, more a demand than a question, "It's not twelve, yet."
"It's past that," Higuruma's smile widens, words half-muffled as Kusakabe draws him fully into his arms, "But I wasn't going to. There's nowhere I'd rather be."
He feels more than sees Kusakabe chuckle. Then, a hand comes to cup his cheek, warm and steady. Alive. Higuruma decides that seeing Kusakabe like this, with his hair washed from the night before and falling in smatters over his eyes, with more love in his heart than he can handle to give to him and the kids, made Shinjuku worth it. Everything he had been through was justifiable if it got him the future he so dreamed of. Kusakabe was beautiful, they were safe here, and if he tried hard enough, Higuruma could hear Miwa giggling and clattering in her room.
It made him embarrassed, but he would give up his agnosticism entirely if it meant he could devote himself to a life as heavenly as this.
"Hey," Kusakabe says, and Higuruma's attention crawls back to him, "Stop working your pretty head over things. We've got time."
For once, Higuruma thinks, as he melts on top of Kusakabe and kisses him lazily, until they both laugh into each other's mouths, they really do.
The kids know this, as well. Miwa takes full opportunity in rushing around full of freedom, drawing in sketchbooks, or finding an old bicycle within the school grounds and forcing Kusakabe to teach her to ride it properly. Higuruma laughs at the exasperated knot in his brow, but when he watches as he refuses to let go of the handlebars, and clamours for Miwa to not bike so far ahead, everything softens. That's Kusakabe's girl, and they both know it.
Now with more time to sit and observe, Higuruma can see exactly the kind of relationship they have. Kusakabe had told him that he wanted to be a father, if jujutsu wasn't so demanding. He would have loved his children to death, and Higuruma didn't doubt it for a second. When he sees Kusakabe brush and braid Miwa's hair with a gentleness only reserved for a daughter, he knows he has soothed his yearning. When Higuruma reads her a book or looks through her drawings before bed, the loving smile he gets in return from her tells him that maybe he also soothed a want he didn’t think he had.
With them also, Itadori begins life anew. Kusakabe had helped him fold his sorcerer uniform away far into the corners of his closet, but left the pinwheel badge out. Alongside ones they rescued belonging to the likes of Nobara and the others, Itadori keeps them safe on his bedside table. Occasionally, Higuruma had seen him kneel by it, caressing the engravement of each with a thumb. It broke his heart every time. Even if he leaned in the doorway and asked if he'd wanted to try making cheesecake again (the first time was unexplainable), the sorrow on his face remained, in the way he stirred, the food, the thanks that sounded so tired they may as well still be in Shinjuku.
"I wish it had never happened to him," Higuruma sighs. From where Kusakabe is sitting nursing a coffee, he slings an arm around Higuruma, pulling him close. This is a conversation they'd had several times, even if it did nothing to ease Itadori's pain. "It's unfair. A kid like him..."
"I know," Kusakabe says. Then, "But isn't it better this way?"
"Better how?"
"At least," he sits up and turns to Higuruma. His eyes are dark, and solemn. The urge to cry boils fast. "It's over, and he's with us. We can look after him enough that things might start to be normal again."
They both know that normality is out of the question, but Kusakabe is right. If Itadori could begin to feel more like a teenager, and less like a war-battered cog in the machine, then Higuruma doesn't know what else could satisfy him.
They learned very quickly that all Itadori needed was a good amount of comfort and reassurance, and, well, Higuruma and Kusakabe were more than happy to offer that. They hushed him at night when his nightmares were too much of a burden to shoulder, and watched his favourite television show wedged on either side of the single bed until he fell into restless sleep. Sometimes, they offered their own bed for Itadori to share with them, or they'd build a blanket fort and stay up sharing stories until daybreak lit the room. Itadori was taught that he was safe, and that he could ask for help as and when, and that them and Miwa weren't leaving for a long, long time.
When Itadori earned the shine in his eyes again, and his smile brought out his dimples hidden from sight, Higuruma could have sobbed.
Higuruma sees his family in every part of their home. Miwa and Kusakabe's training batons are hung up and discarded in the entryway, never to be touched again. Stacks of mangas and books fill Itadori's bedroom and every shelf they have. The place feels busy, and chaotic, and perfect.
Higuruma can't think of a life better fitted for him.