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2 years after
“Ah…” Itadori-san hesitates. He’s not smiling. It makes him look unusually intimidating. Kyouka feels a chill run down her spine, suddenly remembering that Itadori-san is home to Sukuna , and that there was a reason the third year could handle sharing his body with the King of Curses. “I don’t remember much about him, to be honest.”
The first year visibly droops in poorly concealed disappointment. “Oh, okay… sorry for bothering you, Itadori-senpai.” She dips into a deep bow, not that Itadori sticks around to see it. Kyouka looks up only to see pink hair disappearing around the corner. She eyes the long straight hallway that stretches out in front of her and smartly resolves not to bring up the topic again.
3 weeks before
“You really don’t have to stay, Nanamin! I’m fine, it’s nothing serious enough that you need to watch over me, y’know?” Yuji fiddles with the IV taped to his hand. Nanami-sensei raises a thin blond eyebrow, and Yuji immediately stops.
“Itadori-kun, I have no other plans.” They both knew that was a lie. There was always another mission, always another curse to exorcise, always another task, especially for the dwindling number of Grade 1 sorcerers left. Yuji had listened to Gojo-sensei whine about it this morning. Even so, Yuji’s shoulders relaxed as he slumped back into the hospital bed. Nanami-sensei pressed the button to lower the headboard without being asked, before he too settled more comfortably into his armchair.
Yuji stared up at the ugly tile ceiling as Nanami-sensei read a book next to him, the two just existing in the shared, comfortable silence. It’s peaceful, reminding him of late-nights with Kugasaki and Fushigoro in his room, the two slumped on top of him and all three buried by blankets, Fushigoro drooling on his shoulder and Kugasaki mumbling under her breath.
Even then, Yuji had doubts running through his mind, keeping him awake- thoughts of death and executions and a throne made up of thousands of piled up bones in a wine dark sea of blood- fears that his fellow students couldn’t completely erase. But with Nanamin, Yuji feels safe . He trusts the older man to protect him, and perhaps more importantly, he knows that Nanami would never look down at him for needing to be protected.
For once he feels like a kid, instead of a barely 15 year old vessel doomed to die a grisly death, struggling to save as many as he could and failing just as often as he succeeded. It’s a foreign feeling, even though realistically, it’s only been a couple of months since he swallowed something he shouldn’t have and ended up clawing for survival in this world he never knew existed. Hardly enough time for him to forget about his life before, but nevertheless thoughts of the track-and-field team, of going out to eat after classes, of confessing to a cute girl or boy feels so incompatible with who Yuji is now. Those ordinary activities are something civilians get to indulge in, not him. His new normal is the glitter of Gojo-sensei’s inhuman eyes, the musk of Panda’s sweaty fur, the bruises Principal Yaga’s cursed dolls leave.
Most of the time Yuji thinks that he’s fine with the tradeoff; because now he knows the high pitched barking of Kugasaki’s genuine laugh. He’s seen the slight curve of Fushiguro’s amusement (twice!), nearly falling over because of Maki-san’s encouraging slap, knows the taste of hard won victory, the satisfying soreness after a day of exorcising curses. He treasures the genuine pride in Nanami-sensei’s eyes after he uses a Black Flash, Inumaki-san’s quiet offerings of snacks and water after training, Todo-san’s booming encouragement.
It’s just that sometimes, he wonders. What does it feel like to go out shopping, and come home with clothes instead of bloody lacerations from the Grade 2 curse he bumped into? What would uninterrupted sleep, un-aching bones, quiet dreams even feel like again? What about living without that tingle in his chest, the very real voice in his head that whispers you are doomed to die alone, full of regrets that shouts Fushiguro will regret having ever saved you that screams you are nothing, all your efforts are for nothing, and you will drag everyone who’s ever cared about you down down down…
Nanami-sensai’s voice, as formal as always, cuts through Yuji’s muddled, sleep-tinged thoughts. “Would you like something to drink, Itadori-kun?”
His eyelids feel so heavy, and Yuji barely stifles a yawn. “Ah, Nanamin, I’m good…” Sleep calls out to him, and Yuji is more than willing to comply. He hears Nanamin stand up and place his book on the nightstand.
“I’ll go get us something to drink. In the meanwhile, please remain awake as per the doctor’s orders, Itadori-kun.” The blond gives Yuji a stare, and he grumpily shifts to press the button that lifts up the headboard. Satisfied, Nanamin leaves.
With the man gone, his thoughts seem louder than ever even as Yuji drifts back towards sleep. He’s gotten used to his own voice whispering to him, especially when he’s tired and not in full control, but somehow being back in a hospital makes Sukuna’s customary degradations and threats seem more vivid, the possibility of happenstance somewhat higher.
He’s nudged out of another swirl of violent thoughts by the soft click of someone trying to be quiet. Nanamin, always respectful of others. His mentor crosses the room, nodding in approval at seeing Yuji awake (if just barely). He sets one paper cup down on the nightstand, and hands Yuji the other.
“Thank you.” Yuji wraps his fingers around the cup and takes a sip. The warmth and sweetness of the hot cocoa flows through his body, muting Sukuna’s whispers. He tastes a hint of coffee, and he knows that Nanamin had noticed that Yuji didn’t like bitter things but was on the verge of nodding off. Without warning, tears sprang to his eyes.
Yuji respects Gojo-sensei, but gods never need to be comforted. To be told I’m here, and I care. And while Sukuna may be a god, Itadori Yuji was not.
“Itadori-kun.” Nanamin paused. “Yuji-kun.” His voice was soft, but carried no hint of pity. “It’s okay to want to escape from all of this. It does not mean you are weak.”
“Nanamin, are you reading my mind?” Yuji’s attempt at joking fell flat, partly due to how choked up he sounded.
“You are a child, Yuji-kun. You deserve to be able to live freely, without any responsibility of saving the world. That is something adults must shoulder, because they are adults.” His eyes bore into Yuji’s, green pinning down brown, leaving no room for doubt.
The older sorcerer smiled sadly, looking impossibly tired. “It is my fault, and the faults of all the other adults in this world, that you have such a burden on your shoulders. Not yours. Never yours. Understand?”
Yuji nodded.
Nanami-sensei checked his watch. “Finish your cocoa. Ichiji-san is picking us up in 15 minutes.”
“Nanamin?”
He hm ed, showing that he was listening to Yuji even as he moved his chair back to its original spot by the window.
“Thank you.” For everything, not just the words but for saving me from the Grade 1 curse and for sitting with me even though I know that you have fresh stitches under your shirt, for being my fath -mentor and making me feel safe, remained unsaid.
“Always.”
1 year after
Today is ordinary, no different from the one that came before or the one that will come after. Satoru gets up from bed, washes his face, and fastidiously goes through all ten steps of his extensive skincare regimen. Just like yesterday, he ignores the movie playing on his phone until the sound grates against his ears, and throws the device against the wall. Another crack on the screen.
He brushes his thumb against it, and suddenly the feeling of glass digging into his skin is too much and he can’t handle it, not today . A blink, and the phone is crushed into a perfect sphere. A wave, and it drops to the floor, rolling to join the small pile of marbleized electronics underneath his bed.
A knock on the door. Satoru strolls through, paying no attention to the piles of dirty laundry scattered on the floor, the sofa, the table. He answers after plucking a blindfold from the doorknob and tossing it over his shoulder, bright smile lighting up the hallway.
“Yuji-kun! What can I do for you? There’s no class today, so-”
Yuji interrupts him with the ease of someone who knows that Satoru will ramble on if not forcibly stopped. “Sensei, I-” He hesitates.
Satoru’s smile doesn’t flicker, even as his Six Eyes catalogue the chaotic whirl of Yuji’s cursed energy, the way his student is picking at the loose skin on his thumb, the ill-fitting suit he’s sporting.
“Would you like to go with me? To visit him?”
Today is just a normal day.
“Ah, no thanks! You see, Yuji-kun, I heard that this amazing mochi shop just opened off of Roppongi, and I’m just dying to try it! How about you come with me, instead? What do you say? I’ll even pay for your portion, like the amazing teacher I am!”
He catches the flicker of resignation and concern in Yuji’s eyes. The boy politely bows and declines, promising to go another time. He hesitates again as he turns to leave.
“Gojo-sensei, if you need help doing laundry-”
“It’s not a problem, Yuji-kun! But aren’t you adorable, worrying about me-”
“We all are, sensei.”
Satoru falters, smile slipping for a fraction of a second as he stares at Itadori’s retreating back. He hauls it back though, pins his mask firmly in place again, and shuts the door.
He makes coffee, drinks it black while looking out the window. The glass is shattered, but he leans his elbows against the sharp edges anyways, feeling it tickle his Infinity.
It’s a beautiful day.
He hates black coffee.
45 minutes before
Satoru’s not worried. On him, overconfidence is just confidence, and no one can say that it isn’t unearned or unwarranted. Well, one person makes a habit of saying just that, but Satoru figures that Nanami Kento was more the exception than the rule.
Ahead of him, the lights of Shibuya loom out of the fog of pollution. He pauses, floating in midair as he takes a second to pinpoint the cursed energies of his students and colleagues (and Kento’s, of course, no one’s there to see him linger and blow a kiss to his lover far, far below) scattered around the perimeter before passing through the barrier, feeling the tingle as someone else’s technique briefly clashes with his.
A click of his tongue and he’s pushing through the crowd at Hikarie ShinQ, six eyes zeroing in on the 3 special grades mixed in with civilians. Satoru’s feeling more than a little annoyed right now, and the clever little trick the volcano and nature curses come up with to try and neutralize his Infinity, while interesting, doesn’t help his mood.
Today was supposed to be his long awaited day off, after a 3 day mission to Laos. More importantly, it was the only day off that lined up with Kento’s, and he’d been promised copius amounts of pancakes smothered with whipped cream and his favorite apricot preserves along with lots of languid morning sex. He hadn’t seen his partner in weeks, and facetime and texts only made him miss Kento’s warm hands and soft kisses even more acutely.
Satoru easily crushes the nature curse before turning to the remaining two with his signature humorless smirk. It’ll be over soon, and he’ll be back in Kento’s arms in no time. Maybe he’ll pretend that the fight had been closer than it actually was, let them leave a couple bruises; so he can watch Kento’s eyes soften in concern and possibly even tolerate Satoru clinging onto him for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, hot-head and emo space-buns rudely decide to run away and really, that makes it harder for all of them. Satoru makes a mental note to bully Yaga into extending both of their day-offs, maybe even make it a week, as he chases them deeper into Shibuya station.
He’s been planning to take Kento to the Maldives for a while now, and Satoru thinks of the tattoo shops he’s been researching. Rings were impractical in their line of work, especially as Kento prefers his hands unencumbered, when the slightest weight could mean his strike doesn’t hit that perfect 7:3 ratio. Satoru still plans to propose with one, wants to see his lover with metal glinting on his finger, but he wants something permanent. Proof of his love, his dedication on Kento’s skin, and Kento’s on his.
His musings are ruined when a patchwork curse, the one Kento and Yuji must have fought, joins up with the two he’s already chasing. Raggedy-ann had been the one that made Kento retreat into himself after the fight with the transfigured humans, had been the one that almost took Kento away from Satoru, and now this asshole has the audacity to taunt him from behind his transfigured human minions? He finds himself reaching his limit (haha, get it?) when the volcano-head severs his own arm and prevents Satoru from swatting another pesky mosquito. It takes him 0.2 seconds to activate Unlimited Void, another 299 to kill all the mutations, and he’s just getting ready to trap the three blights upon humanity in another Void when-
“Prison Realm, open.”
Satoru processes everything in a fraction of a second- the cube splitting open, the massive eye staring straight at him, his dead best friend’s voice calling out his name-
Satoru sees everything, but that doesn’t mean he understands.
“Yo! Satoru!”
His dead best friend’s voice calling out his name-
“Huh?”
Suguru- it’s not him it can’t be him - smiles at him, that same pessimistic dry smile that was really just a quirk of the lips- “It’s been a while.” It says.
Yes. It has. It’s been exactly 10 months, 1 week, and 8 hours since Gojo Satoru has seen Geto Suguru. It’s been 10 months, 1 week, 7 hours, and some 30-odd minutes since Gojo Satoru killed Geto Suguru with his own hands, felt his blood splatter and soak into his clothes, and then turned around and walked away.
Is he a fake?
Is this some kind of transformation technique?
No.
He’s real.
Satoru weakens for one minute. One minute of bittersweet memories, one minute of dry laughter, one minute of chapped minty kisses (Suguru always said curses tasted like shit and Satoru had laughed and kissed his throat as he blew a bubble, even though the gum Suguru chewed wasn’t bubble gum)-
“C’mon now, Satoru. ” It’s raspy baritone sounds just like Suguru’s. “ Are you letting your mind wander during a fight?”
He pulls himself from the torrent of now-tainted memories (Tainted? They were tainted after Suguru murdered a village, now they’re dyed pitch black. Satoru wonders if he’ll be able to bleach them back to just boundless teenage hope, cotton candy sweet first love, how beautiful Suguru had looked laughing underneath dappled sunlight-)
His body’s frozen, trapped by the Prison Realm; with his limitless cursed energy gone , a sensation he’s never learned how to deal with. It’s a bit too late to learn now.
“So .” The only weapon left is his mouth, even as he still tastes wisps of phantom mint on his tongue. “ Who are you?”
“Geto Suguru, of course! ” It brings a hand to its chest, mockingly wipes away a tear. “ Did you forget? How sad.”
“My Six Eyes tells me you’re Geto Suguru…
but my soul knows otherwise! ”
“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? ”
Whoever you are, get out . Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout get out - get out of him, get out of those lungs that used to rise and fall underneath Satoru’s ear, get out of that heart that used to lull him to sleep, get out of those eyes that used to crinkle up into little crescent moons when Suguru was genuinely happy, get out of the dead empty body that used to belong to the one person Satoru loved most in this crappy world, before he had to kill him for an undeserving, selfish, cruel planet-
“I’m actually surprised you care so much.” It laughs, Suguru’s forehead opening like the world’s grossest zipper, revealing the grayish-pink slimy brain with teeth that’s just landed itself on the top of Satoru’s to-torture-than-kill-with-extreme-prejudice list. “It seems like you’ve moved on pretty well?”
It tchs in mock sympathy. “Must still be hard though, dating another sorcerer? So many possible...accidents… that can happen on the job- oh, of course you would already know!” It gestures at itself. “I am Exhibit A, after all.”
It flashes a smile filled with glee. “Let’s hope that our dear 7-3 doesn’t become Exhibit B. I’m really rooting for him, he’s already outlasted 2/5ths of our little group, right? Me, obviously, and that loud kid? Good! For! Him!” It accents each word with a sarcastic clap that drives a stake deeper into Satoru’s chest and the sound echoes in the deathly quiet station. Even the curses hold their breaths, watching the two converse.
“Looks like it’s just down to him and Shoko, now.” It glances down at Suguru’s wrist while re-stitching the top of Suguru’s skull back onto the rest of his body. “I really am rooting for him to survive what I’ve got planned next. Honestly, I’m disappointed that we have to seal you, Satoru, I think you would’ve liked what I’ve got in store. Don’t worry, I’ll let you out in a thousand years, maybe even in this same body! I’ve grown rather attached to him, but I’ll give it back to you once I’m done with it. Maybe I’ll even stay inside, pilot him for you to relive all those dirty, dirty promises you made to him, hmm? Wonder how your new lover will feel about that?” It winks and turns to go.
“Good night, Gojo Satoru. Let’s meet again in the new world!”
The Gate closes, and the last Satoru sees of the outside world is a bloody train station platform, a corpse, and the two curses that’s devastated the only two people he’s ever loved.
1 minute after
Yuji is fine, but he’s not okay , but he’s fine because he needs to keep moving, because even though it feels like his heart has stopped the battle very clearly has not -
Nanamin was right, he thinks as he prepares to charge at the patchwork curse. Jujutsu is shit .
Then he doesn’t really think about anything other than the fight; because if he does, he’ll be lost behind rage and endless grief and Yuji isn’t sure that he’ll like what he finds. Besides, the world will not let Itadori Yuji grieve or even stop for a second and rest , because then the world will have been too kind.
He is so tired. He already wants to pass this new yet not-new burden onto someone else .
29 days after
The Gate opens, and the first Satoru sees of the outside world is a bloody train station platform, a corpse, and the three first years peering up at him with concern (Yuuji), disgust (Nobara), and relief (Megumi).
Kugasaki is the first to speak. “Sensei, I stole your credit card.”
He chooses not to point out that with 90% of Tokyo being little more than piles of steaming rubble, he would actually be very impressed if she had managed to find a store that was still intact to try and make a dent in the sizable Gojo fortune.
Megumi ignores her even as Yuji sputters. “You look like you’ve had a fun vacation.” The moody brat points out, even as he not so subtly scans over Satoru, checking for injuries and only relaxing upon finding none. Aww, he does care.
“Jealous, Megumi-chan?” Satoru retorts easily as his Six Eyes does his own little, far more thorough examination of his students, noting with pride that all three had progressed far beyond his expectations, their cursed energies stronger and more settled within their bodies. Megumi, especially, seems to have figured out the Ten Shadows technique’s true capabilities, and Satoru can’t wait to spar with the boy and test his new limits. While he had been able to see some events through the Prison Realm, reception had been blurry at best, and he’d been trying to force his way out more often than not to pay close attention to the outside.
He takes a deep breath and bites the bullet. “So,” his students shuffle uncomfortably, and Yuji tries to edge behind Megumi. It doesn’t work, as the kid seems to have only gotten buffer in Satoru’s absence. “What happened while I was ... gone?”
His kids eye each other, raised eyebrows and aggressive side glances in an elaborate pantomime that screams bad news for Satoru, specifically. Bad enough, that even the usually brash Kugasaki (she totally learned her bad attitude and disrespect for Gojo from Shoko) didn’t want to tell him.
Yuji picks at his hands, eyes stubbornly locked on the grimly floor as he takes a deep breath. “Gojo-sensei-” he starts haltingly, “I-”
He stops and Satoru steps forward in alarm, because Yuji, sunshine and puppies and rainbows Yuji, was choking up. This was the kid that didn’t even cry when Satoru informed him of his death sentence and subsequent career of fighting vicious curses, but whatever had happened while Satoru had been sealed was clearly the straw that broke the camel’s back. His hands fumble for a hankerchief, and he pulls out a pale green one out of his pocket, frantically thrusting it into Yuji’s hands. Satoru had never been good with feelings , as Kento had fondly told him over and over.
The kid freezes when he sees the N.K. monogrammed in the corner in dark green thread, before silent tears rush out of those big brown eyes. “I’m so sorry-” the kid stutters as tears drip down his face, handkerchief unused and gripped reverently in his hands. “I am so sorry- ”
Someone close to the kid had died, Satoru would bet his entire sizeable fortune on it. Nothing else would break Yuji like this. Probably one of the weaker second years, then, Satoru knows that the whole Tokyo group had gotten surprisingly close after the baseball tournament. Either Inumaki or Panda, then. Possibly Maki, but Nobara didn’t seem devastated enough for it to be her.
He pushes down the twinge of familiar grief and disappointment at the loss of another promising sorcerer with the practiced ease, ready to comfort Yuji and take the opportunity to impart an unfortunate truth of the world of jujutsu- people you loved died, and if you let yourself be haunted by the ghosts of every one, you’d crumble to pieces.
Satoru has never been good at comfort, giving or receiving, but he tries to remember how Kento had held his hands, stroked his hair, murmured pointless platitudes whenever Infinity got just a bit too heavy, when his head bowed just a bit too low in trying to hold up the world on his shoulders. The hug he draws Yuji into is awkward at best, his inexperience clear, as he hesitantly pats his student’s back and tries not to think about the snot and dirt and tears Yuji’s currently transferring onto his shirt.
Megumi is looking at them with something like devastation in his eyes, while Nobara has stepped a bit aways, giving the three of them as much privacy as she can. Oddly respectful, for her, and both of their reactions to Yuji’s breakdown screams volumes for Satoru, who notices every fidget and twitch of Kugaski’s fingers, every blood vessel that had burst on Megumi’s glassy eyes.
Someone close to Megumi then, but not as close to Nobara, even though she had clearly deeply respected whoever it was. A mentor, then, one of the teachers or other sorcerers. Satoru’s relief at not losing his precious students flashes lightning quick before his mind forces him to catalog all the remaining possibilities. Yaga? No, Itadori wouldn’t be this devastated. Shoko- a possibility. That thing’s voice echoes in Satoru’s head “Looks like it’s just down to him and Shoko, now” before Satoru shakes himself and swallows his budding grief at having lost another friend, another sorcerer- pulling himself together before his first years saw the millisecond he took to mourn.
Yuji’s sobs have started to die down, and now he pulls away, wiping his eyes with a hand still splattered with blood and who knows what else. Kento’s handkerchief is still spotless, an unsettling contrast that has Satoru on edge. They both look at it, Satoru with an odd knot in his throat and a cold weight settling into his belly; Yuji with a wild, desperate dependence, his fingers bone white as he clutches it to his chest. He swallows, tries to offer Satoru the handkerchief. Why? Kento has more, and he’ll probably inist Yuji keep it, and Satoru has never gotten dirty enough to need something so old-fashioned that he still mocks Kento for carrying them around, and honestly the kid looks like he needs a five hour long shower, maybe a decontamination room, not a handkerchief, and-
Yuji opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.
Megumi steps forward.
Yuji shakes his head, fresh tears turning his eyes glassy, emphasizing the dark circles carved underneath them.
Yuji looks at Satoru, and he has never felt so pinned.
They speak at the same time.
“Nanamin is dead.”
“No.”
11 months before
“Suguru is dead.”
It doesn’t feel real, he thinks. Wasn’t saying stuff out loud supposed to make it feel more. Real? He doesn’t know. Satoru is so tired. Satoru doesn’t know why he’s here.
Nanami just looks at him. Satoru can hear every breath both of them take, feel every molecule of oxygen in the room, but. He can’t breathe , even though he can, he’s doing it right now, air is right there, but it is. So hard.
“Gojo, I need you to listen to me. Can you hear me? Nod once.” Nanami’s voice breaks through the haze, calm as always, in control, at odds with his messy hair and rumpled sheets and the red creases imprinted on his sharp cheekbones from his pillow.
He doesn’t know if he nods. He does know that Nanami’s brown eyes are. Focused. Warm. Caring, with a touch of concern. Beautiful .
Nanami takes his hands (they are so cold and dirty and stained with the blood of his best friend, his first love, his partner, the other half of the strongest duo-), and places them on his chest. Satoru feels him exhale, then inhale. Satoru hears the slow beating of his heart, knows the molecular composition of his skin, sees the atoms that make up his eyes, and yet- Satoru realizes that he does not know this man before him, has always seen Nanami as an underclassman, his junior, his responsibility, even though he had never asked Satoru for help in all the years he’s known him.
He wonders how Nanami sees him, with those mortal eyes of his. Does he see a god? Or a pathetic human playing at one?
He closes his eyes, and breathes. Nanami breathes with him, warm and alive and strong beneath his touch.