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Itadori Yuuji is a prospective first grade jujutsu sorcerer. But first and foremost, he is Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel. He is reminded of this fact every time his friends get hurt because of him, every time someone dies because of him. It haunts him in the dark of the night, when he’s tossing and turning in bed because he can’t stop seeing the images of Sukuna’s—no, his —victims with their battered and twisted bodies, their grotesque contortions seared into his memory. Sometimes there’s not even bodies—just dust, like they never existed at all.
He’s just a boy. And that’s the problem. What is a boy compared to the hundreds of people who Sukuna has killed and taken away from their families? The thousands of people left behind, without a chance to say goodbye?
Help people—that was his grandfather’s last wish. It was what drove him to swallow the first finger. Yet it has also doomed countless others to Sukuna’s bloodlust.
Yuuji’s lips twitch into a mirthless smile. His grandfather must be rolling in his grave right now.
Yuuji groans, opening his eyes for what feels like the nth time that night. It’s been so many times that he’s lost count. Eyelids droopy with fatigue, he turns to the side and fumbles for his phone on the bedside table, his hands clammy with sweat. 2:39AM. He was supposed to be asleep two and a half hours ago.
Sighing, he gets out of bed. The bed creaks with the shift in weight.
Another sleepless night then. Those seem to be happening with increasing frequency.
He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and groggily shuffles out of his room. There’s no light filtering out from under Fushiguro’s door, so the other must be asleep. Yuuji squints in thought, a hand coming up to rub at his nape.
Well, bothering Fushiguro is out of the question. The other boy would absolutely kill him.
Yuuji scrunches his face, his eyebrows furrowing in consternation. What should he do in the four hours before everyone else wakes up? There’s no way he’s getting any sleep tonight.
Without a destination in mind, he slowly ambles across the hallway and out of the dorm, letting his legs take him wherever while the buzz of static fills his head. The crisp night air is a welcome change from the stuffy atmosphere of his scarcely ventilated room. Before he knows it, he’s walked almost an entire lap around the school compound—which wasn’t that big, perhaps a twenty minute walk if he skirts around the edges.
The chirp of the crickets and the drag of his slippers across the ground are the only sounds that accompany his lonely journey. It’s no surprise; after all, it’s almost three in the morning and the school is isolated from the city centre, ensconced in a dense forest.
Pinpricks of goosebumps proliferate across his uncovered arms as the night breeze drifts by. Yuuji sniffs, bringing his hands up to rub at his arms to generate frictional heat. He should've brought a jacket.
As Yuuji continues his walk, his thoughts naturally drift to Gojo, as they are wont to do. His teacher flew off to Hokkaido a few days ago to exorcise a legion of Grade 1 cursed spirits. Yuuji wonders when he’ll be back—it’s been a while since he left. Nothing new, but Yuuji sort of misses him. Especially tonight.
Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he’ll head over to Gojo’s room in the staff dorms.
It started a few weeks ago when Gojo returned from a mission after midnight and caught him in the middle of his aimless wandering. He brought a reluctant Yuuji into his room and insisted that he crash on the couch.
(“Isn’t this kind of inappropriate, sensei?”
“Not at all! I only have the purest of intentions,” Gojo reassured with his usual cheeky grin, reaching out to pat Yuuji on his back. The warmth that emanated from Gojo’s large hand brought about a burning heat onto Yuuji’s cheeks.)
Knowing that Gojo was a mere few metres away and being able to feel his cursed energy saturating the air lulled Yuuji into an easy sleep. It was the best rest he’d had in ages. After that, Gojo told Yuuji to come over whenever sleep eluded him, because even though Gojo acted like an overgrown manchild most of the time, he was weirdly kind and dependable like that.
Yuuji knows that Gojo has a nice house nearer to the city centre. Heck, he’s even lived there for a period of time. It’s much larger and better furnished than the plain and cramped college dorms.
He also knows that Gojo hasn’t been there much ever since he found Yuuji wandering around that first night, choosing to sleep in the dorms instead. Yuuji admits that he’s not particularly smart, but even a knucklehead like him can tell that Gojo is doing it for his sake. As if Yuuji wasn’t enough of a burden already.
But sometimes, pulling away is so hard. It’s selfish, but he can’t help it.
Yuuji blearily rubs his eyes, lethargy seeping into his bones. Gojo wouldn’t mind if he crashed on his couch tonight even if he wasn’t around, right? It’s just for a night, and Yuuji is so tired.
He makes his way to the staff dorms, taking extra care to mask his footsteps in the hallway so as to not disturb anyone. After arriving in front of Gojo’s door, he twists the handle and steps in. Gojo never locks his door because according to him there’s nothing to steal anyway—only spare sets of clothes (his usual black shirts and pants), basic necessities and sugary treats in the fridge.
Yuuji immediately zooms in on the couch and flops straight down onto it, the rough surface abrading his face. Rustles and creaks cut through the silence as he wiggles around the slightly lumpy surface to make himself comfortable.
Seconds tick by. Then minutes. But Yuuji finds himself no closer to achieving a blissful state of dreamless slumber than before. It just wasn’t the same without Gojo.
His frustration and fatigue manifest themselves through the pinpricks of tears that sting the corners of his eyes. Everyday he becomes more dependent, more of a burden. It feels like he’s stuck in a limbo, unable to do anything himself. Just like a child.
Well, he is a child, but he lost the right to be one when he became Sukuna’s vessel.
His spiral into self-pity and loathing is abruptly put to a stop when the door hinge squeaks.
Yuuji can immediately tell that it’s Gojo from his signature cursed energy—it’s distinct in its endless potential and limitless like the galaxy. In a state of panic, Yuuji instinctively fakes sleep. He concentrates and evens out his breathing, letting his body sink further into the worn out couch as his muscles go lax.
Confusion and shock coalesce into a jumble in Yuuji’s mind. Why was Gojo-sensei here? This wasn’t part of his (non-existent) plan at all.
He can feel Gojo’s gaze as it sweeps across the room and zeroes in on him. Sweat accumulates above his brow and he braces himself for some sort of admonishment for entering without permission.
The thump of Gojo’s footsteps gets louder, signalling his approach. They stop just short of the couch. A heavy pressure encompasses Yuuji as Gojo looms over the couch, pinning him under his intense gaze.
A gentle hand settles on Yuuji’s head and ruffles the short strands.
“I know you’re awake, Yuuji,” Gojo says, a teasing lilt to his voice. Yuuji startles and automatically blinks his eyes open. Having adjusted to the darkness, he glances up and is met with a playful grin.
Even with Gojo’s easy countenance, Yuuji’s chest tightens with apprehension and he gulps, trying to rid his throat of its dryness. Hopefully he isn’t in too much trouble—Gojo can be unpredictable at times.
Yuuji sighs imperceptibly. At least he’ll be able to sleep with Gojo here. He just has to suck it up and deal with whatever punishment the other metes out first.
“Wow, I can make out your eyebags even in the darkness. C’mon big boy, get onto the bed.”
Yuuji stares at Gojo incomprehensibly. His mind whirrs, working double-time but unable to come up with an answer.
“Hello, earth to Yuuji?” Gojo waves a hand in front of his face.
He must have run out of patience because the next time Yuuji blinks, he’s being hefted up by Gojo with an arm below his knees and another at his back. The man carries him to the bed with large strides and deposits him on the side closer to the wall.
Then he climbs in beside Yuuji and the poor boy’s brain short-circuits.
“Goodnight, Yuuji. Sweet dreams!” Gojo croons.
An arm is thrown across Yuuji’s chest as he stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes. The solid weight grounds him, calming his rapidly beating heart. As his pulse slows, he chances a glance to the side.
Gojo is lying on his side, his body curled towards Yuuji. His eyelashes flutter minutely with every breath he takes, his face a picture of peace and tranquility. He looks much younger like this, when his face isn’t contorted into one of his impish expressions.
“Gojo-sensei?” Yuuji whispers. He marvels at the way the moonlight streams into the room, accentuating the shine of Gojo’s soft hair and the delicate curvature of his face.
Yuuji must’ve zoned out for a while, seeing as Gojo is asleep now.
He turns onto his side, making sure not to dislodge Gojo’s arm too much. Testing the waters, he slowly inches his left hand forward and softly rests it across Gojo’s waist, situating his palm on his back to pull the both of them closer.
When the other shows no signs of stirring, he nuzzles into Gojo’s chest, taking deep breaths to inhale his scent. Beneath his ear, he can hear the steady thump of his teacher’s heart, full of life and vitality. He wants to relax, but he can’t help but wonder—will he be the reason it stops pumping one day?
What a morbid thought. He hopes that Gojo could stop him if such an event ever came to pass. Behind all his whimsiness and bravado, Gojo is unbearably soft. Yuuji sees it in the way he brings back souvenirs from his missions for his students, the way he tricks them into exorcising cursed spirits by saying that they’re going sightseeing, but end up buying them steak for dinner.
Gojo is the only one he won’t allow Sukuna to take. He’d sooner bite off his tongue than be the one to reap Gojo’s life, because he knows that Gojo cares too much. The man would hesitate to kill him and that may be all Sukuna needs.
Gojo is always protecting him—from the upper echelons of the jujutsu society, from cursed spirits, from himself—so Yuuji will protect Gojo from Sukuna. Even at the expense of his life, because his life belonged to Gojo the moment he woke up bound to that chair all those months ago.
Yuuji sighs, tilting his head up to nose at Gojo’s throat. His fresh scent calms him, tethers him to reality. He is here now, in this moment, in Gojo’s embrace.
Even if Sukuna hijacks his body, he’ll have a hell of a time escaping the college compound, surrounded by some of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers in the country.
But somehow, Yuuji feels safe in the cradle of Gojo’s arms. Because he will never let anything happen to this man—even if he has to drag Sukuna to hell himself.
It is with that thought that he goes to sleep.