Archive of Our Own ^beta

“ I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

- Madeline Miller; “Song of Achilles”

Gojo Satoru became a high school calculus teacher so he could hopefully lessen the close-minded, rote-driven attitude of mathematical research. Yeah, he might be throwing away his Ph.D. and yeah, all those ‘heads of research’ were kind of lost without him, but that was their problem.

They never really listened to him anyways. Not in the ways that mattered. They only took bits and pieces of his theories and equations that fit their mindset and refused to try anything else. They were halting progress when they were meant to be the cutting edge of science. Math is the purest form of creativity and human understanding, but they forgot that as soon as they started getting a little money from it. It disgusted Gojo.

So that’s why he dropped off the face of academia to teach. His working theory was that if he could inspire kids to see math as this fluid object, at least one of them would enter the field with the same mindset as him.

Or at least that was his theory.

Unfortunately, actually teaching them calculus proved to be harder and harder with each year he taught. He was going on four years and, if it was possible, this round of teaching introduction to limits was going worse than ever. Gojo sighed and put his head in his hands, pulling at strands of hair as though they were the cause of the headache blooming deep within his skull.

“ I mean, this isn’t even math, Gojo. Like, there was no math needed– it’s literally just reading a graph-, but this kid multiplied two and four. Anyways, his final answer is the limit of f(x) as x approaches 0 is 8. I don’t think he should even get partial credit ,” Maki snarked in his earbuds.

Hiring Maki, a student who was now in his Calculus II class, was the best decision he made. She would look over each kid’s work and just describe it to him, but she also provided her own… feedback. Sometimes he stole some lines from her and wrote the scathing feedback in disarmingly happy bright pink ink. It was the highlight of his days, but he really should tell her to tone it down. The comments drove up the time needed to grade and he had a massive headache.

Being visually impaired in any field was a challenge, but in teaching, it was especially difficult. From making sure kids weren’t making out in the back seats to just drawing graphs on the board, everything was just slightly harder than usual. However, he was used to it and it really wasn’t a big deal.

His students respected him enough to listen to his lecture, Maki or Ijichi (the school secretary) usually read out the student’s work and he could translate it, not to mention he’s been writing all his life. All he has to do is orient himself and the rest is muscle memory– if his handwriting was bad, then he wasn’t any different from any other doctorate-holder from what he understood.

No, the worst part was the stupidly bright lights in the school. From what he could see, the lights blurred around and became a nightmare. Usually, sunglasses were enough to reduce how bright the sun was, but for some reason, the lights in the school were so much worse.

That was the exact reason why he was alone in his house with all the lights turned off, just trying to get ahead in work. This low-level calculus was pretty mindless to him anyways– even a bit relaxing.

This being said, he should still take a break.

Pausing Maki’s voice recording, Gojo held the power button to activate Siri.

“I’m listening,” it chirped, the electronic buzz making him wince.

Regardless, he cleared his throat and said, “What’s the time?”

“It is currently eleven pm!”

Gojo sighed deeply and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, hoping the pressure would make the headache go away. It wasn’t even that late but he felt like he got wrecked by a bus. He completely blamed his homeroom class. Usually, they knew to be relatively quiet so he could hear when anyone called out his name, but this morning they were being unnecessarily loud. Especially Megumi and Nobara, which was strange, since Nobara was usually sleeping and Megumi didn’t like to stick out all that much.

He knew it was likely Yuji’s fault. Ever since he transferred into his accelerated program and Gojo assigned Nobara and Megumi to be in his calculus study group, both kids came out of their respective shells. As Megumi’s legal guardian, this was great to see and he was happy the kid finally had some friends to hang out with, but as his homeroom teacher, he was going to have to lay down some rules.

What a headache. He hated being the bad guy.

With another dramatic sigh, Gojo sunk deeper into the couch and tugged out his earbuds, feeling slight relief as the electronic static faded away. Technically, he could play the recordings out loud since Megumi and Tsumiki were both out of the house, but using the earbuds had become a habit. Maybe after some painkillers, he could try that.

Gojo stretched– his long legs bumping against the coffee table- and tossed his phone to the side. He hopped to his feet and used the table’s corners as a way to orient himself. Since he was between the couch and the table, that meant the kitchen was to his left including the hallway leading to his bedroom.

In his bedroom, there would be his absolute savior: acetaminophen.

He didn’t think it was addictive, but sometimes he wondered if he’d become the first case study. Since his entire life was spent under the bright and all-encompassing lights that were standard in most labs and school buildings, his eyes were constantly strained by a pure bright white and that led to killer migraines. Maybe he could bully Principal Gakuganji into getting him dimmer lights. After all, thanks to him, that high school was the only school in the district with a Ph.D. holder on staff, so he was sure that got him some special perks.

Or he could just sue him or guilt-trip him. The guilt-tripping probably wouldn't work though. Gakuganji was so old that his poor old heart would probably give out if exposed to any stress. He certainly didn’t want to kill the man (most days anyway).

Before he reached the archway that separated his hallways from the common area, he passed by the front door, running his hand over the panels as he went. But then he stopped and paused mid-step. He swore he just heard something lightly scrape against the outside of the door. He could feel the vibration through his palm as well.

This very well might’ve been his own doing, but he was curious. He stood there, his head angled against the door, listening attentively.

For a moment, there was nothing, so he was prepared to brush it off and continue on his way, but then he heard something else. The sound of shoes scraping against the concrete– as though someone was casually dragging their feet. He wasn’t prepared for the way his heart squeezed at the sound. Dull electricity pulsing through his veins as though he was suddenly aware of the pressure of the blood against his arteries– the strange feeling starting at his heart and spreading through his arms and legs.

Stunned curiosity seized him. There was nothing special about that mundane sound, so why was he so stricken?

It took a moment for him to come to his senses and open the door, but part of him was very nervous about the idea. As though opening the door would either confirm or deny a vital truth about his reality. Why was this such a big deal? He was being ridiculous. Maybe Yuji tired him out more than he expected, or maybe his lack of sleep was catching up to him.

The disturbance was likely a stray cat or maybe some student that got hold of his address, maybe chickening out of a prank in retaliation for a less than ideal test score.

In one smooth motion, Gojo opened the door outwards and leaned casually against the doorframe.

“Hello?” he probed, forcing all the jittering nerves out of his voice.

He could make out the blurry silhouette of someone against the amber streetlight, so it definitely wasn’t a cat. But for some reason, they weren’t talking. They were just standing there. If he focused, he could imagine them holding their head low, avoiding eye contact. In this lighting, any identifiable features were missing (the color of their eyes, the style of their hair, even the shade of their skin), but for some reason– some frustrating and unknown reason - they felt uncannily familiar in a way that made his heartache.

Still, this was probably just his sleep deprivation and borderline overdose of caffeine.

He sighed and made a choice, choosing to bargain on the assumption this was just a student of his. “Look, if you’re here to mess with me in some petty retaliation, then-”

But then it struck him like an arrow through his chest and he was breathless.

The man– because he knew that it was a man- made a noise, just a small almost pained noise in the back of his throat and Gojo immediately knew who this was and why his whole chest collapsed at the realization. It seemed impossible. What feels like a lifetime without thinking of him, then suddenly, the dormant ache in his chest is reignited with all-consuming fire. He could feel it burn his throat and rib cage, suffocating him from the inside out.

“Wait,” Gojo said in a breath, as though pleading with reality to pause for just one second so he could get his bearings straight. “...Suguru?”

The name felt strange as it formed on his tongue, but at the same time, was the most natural thing in the world as it left his lips. He may not have been able to make all the familiar definition in Geto Suguru’s face, but he could see how the man froze. Did he think Gojo wouldn’t notice him? Wouldn’t recognize him?

The very thought was insulting.

But still, a part of him wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a hallucination until Suguru finally responded, “Yeah. It’s me.”

What a simple response for seeing someone for the first time in just over four years. A shy and sheepish response that was not the Suguru he knew, yet the timbre of his voice was so familiar, it was undeniable. They stood there silent for just a moment, but it felt like a millennia while Gojo was mentally stuck, his thoughts moving too quickly for him to act on any of them.

His strongest impulse was to reach out and pull the man into a bone-crushing hug. Feel all the familiar warmth of his body and just reassure himself that the man before him is, in fact, his best friend and not some strange phantom just wearing his face. He wanted to bury his face into Suguru’s shoulder and knot his hands in his shirt, anchoring himself so he could never leave again. Gogo wouldn’t let him go again.

The overwhelming desire electrified every part of his body and he almost did. He made a stuttering step forwards, but the way Suguru recoiled like a deer caught in headlights made him pause.

For most of their lives, they were always very physical with one another– shoving, pushing, leaning against each other- but before Suguru even left, an infinite space grew between them that he couldn’t reach through. He would try, but there wasn’t a mathematical equation that could break the asymptotical divide between them. And he would know. His Ph.D. in theoretical physics wasn’t enough for him to break that fundamental law.

Not to mention, a large part of him was terrified that if he touched Suguru, he would disappear into a mist. The reality of his one and only best friend standing at his entryway would shatter and he would be forced back into the reality of just a few minutes ago– where Suguru was out of touch and nowhere near. He didn’t think he could go back to that reality if he tried.

So, instead of approaching him, Gojo instead stepped back and said, “Want to come in?”, at the same time that Suguru said, “I should go.”

His best friend turned to move away, so Gojo panicked and blurted out, “No! Don’t!”, with a hand reaching out. But it still didn’t touch. “Come on, you show up on my doorstep randomly at 11 o’clock on some random Tuesday night and you think I’m just gonna let you leave? No way!”

“I see you're just as bossy as ever,” Suguru huffed.

That sounded more like the man who knew, but his voice still had a strange thin quality to it. Something was off. Or maybe he had just changed over the past four years, but that conclusion was a bit too painful for him to entertain. It wasn’t like he himself hadn’t changed, but something about Suguru changing without him knowing felt so wrong it should be illegal.

“Obviously! Come inside,” Gojo almost begged, trying to keep his voice light. “I swear I won’t bite too hard.” 

“My god, you really haven’t changed, have you?” Suguru said with a sigh. “We both know you're all bark and no bite. You’re a toothpick. I think if you tried to hurt me, you’d end up breaking those bird bones of yours.”

“And you’re just as conceited as ever,” Gojo shot back. “Good to know.”

Suguru scoffed and said something along the lines of, “As I should be”, before they both started laughing a bit. Some of the tension dissolved with it and Gojo gave a tentative smile, hoping Suguru was wearing a similar one. 

“Come inside for a bit,” Gojo tried again, hoping the latent ‘ Please don’t leave again’ didn’t bleed through.

Suguru seemed conflicted for a moment, judging by how his feet shuffled against the cooling, sun-baked concrete and how he could just barely make out the hesitant shake of his head.

He huffed and probably ran a hand through his hair as he finally relented. “Yeah, alright. You weren’t going to give me a choice, either way, were you?”

“Nope!” Gojo chirped in a sing-song voice, stepping fully outside the house and grandly gesturing for him to enter. Suguru stepped inside with his usual long and casual strides, but then froze just after he passed the threshold.

The air turned cold and stiff again as though the man was immediately regretting giving in to their familiar and easy banter. He almost slammed the door as he shut it, wanting to close it as quickly as possible to not give Suguru time to have second thoughts. It was still unreal that he was actually here and not in Greece or Turkey, or wherever he had gone off to. He burned to know what brought his best friend back to him, but for now, he was content to just have him around.

The rest can come later.

Once the door was closed, Suguru seemed to come back to himself as he cleared his throat and twitched for a moment. 

With a jolt, Gojo hastily exclaimed, “Shit, that’s right!”, and rushed to turn the lights on. Though the lights were dim, they both winced at the sudden assault. Gojo’s headache, which had faded with shock, returned with a new intensity. “Damn,” he muttered, blocking his closed eyes with his hands.

He could hear Suguru’s shoes squeak as he noticed Gojo’s sudden discomfort. “Are you okay?” he stuttered, sounding caught between years of instinctual care and if he even had the right to be concerned anymore. “Do you need your sunglasses? Or we could leave the lights off?”

“No, no,” Gojo said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m fine, it just caught me off guard and I forgot I had a headache.”

He slowly opened his eyes, hissing a bit as the light blurred around before reducing, and shapes around the house slowly became visible. The pounding in his head was driving him crazy, so he’d need to get those painkillers sooner than later. However, the dimmer lights of his house were much softer on his eyes and he would be fine as soon as he adjusted.

“How do you forget you have a headache?” Suguru asked in both hesitant amusement and concern.

“Let’s say I was a bit distracted.”

This wasn’t his intended effect, but he caught the way Suguru stuttered once again and began to fidget in guilt. He wasn’t sure why Suguru was acting so cagey or why he was so volatile, but something happened and it wasn’t just the fact they hadn’t seen each other in a few years. If Gojo was being honest, he didn’t know if he could expect to ever see his best friend again, so the past four years didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was Suguru was here now and Gojo knew he probably felt the same.

No. There was something else. Not to mention, people don’t just reappear on someone’s doorstep at eleven pm on an otherwise normal weekday.

But that wasn’t important right now.

Gojo was never known for his patience, so the anticipation of knowing something was off was clawing at him, but he couldn’t act too soon. As much as he wanted to believe the Suguru before him was the same man as he was in their youth, he just couldn’t rely on that. And he didn’t want to lose him again because of poorly timed questions.

So, he reluctantly let it go with a heavy breath and said, “I’m going to get some painkillers. Make yourself at home in the meantime.”

Suguru didn’t move. The tension between them spoke of the tight coils undoubtedly wrapped in every one of the man’s muscles. He was frozen solid, waiting for a clear prompt.

“You can wait on the couch,” Gojo offered. “I was grading before you came by, so feel free to push the papers off to the side. My phone is somewhere on the couch, but you can just move that as well.”

As Gojo moved into the hall, he could hear Suguru’s shoes tap against the faux wood floors and disappear into the plush rug that sectioned off the living room. The odd stutter in his gait made Gojo tighten his lips in response to the squeezing of his heart. He knew what Suguru sounded like– long, even, and casual strides, sometimes dragging his feet- but this was oddly clipped and measured. Like he was trying to act normal, but overcompensating and sounding more like a cheap imitation than anything else.

He also forgot to take off his shoes, but that was the least of his worries.

Pulling open the door to his bedroom, Gojo tried to not let it all bother him. Of course, he was concerned that Suguru was acting strange, and, yes, he knew deep within his soul that something was wrong, but there was also the possibility he was overreacting. 

Suguru hadn’t been in Japan for years and this is the first time they had seen each other since… well, honestly, his departure was far from a pleasant send-off.

But that didn’t matter. It was a bit selfish of him to assume they would be back to normal right away and it was entirely likely that Suguru was just nervous.

Still, four years of absence doesn’t erase almost thirteen long years of friendship. Gojo was certain that he knew his best friend (even better than he knew himself) and he knew the man’s every tick. Like how he pulled through his hair when stressed (a habit he also picked up), how each different pitch of his voice mirrored his every emotion, and how was a complete creature of habit despite always pretending to be the opposite. 

Gojo knew these things like he knew the fundamentals of quantum theory. It was innate to him and while it was sometimes contradictory, it was practically the foundation of his being and he couldn’t imagine questioning his confidence in it. 

So why was Suguru acting so strange?

Grumbling to himself, he found the pain killers in his bathroom medicine cabinet and ran his fingertips over the braille label. He realized that he was doing the opposite of ‘not letting it bother him’, so he dry-swallowed two tablets to spite himself. It was likely a placebo because the medicine did not have time to truly enter his system yet, but he felt relief immediately numbing the pounding ache in his skull.

By the time he exited his bedroom and began walking back into the soft light of his living room, the headache was greatly reduced. He was slightly embarrassed to admit that he was surprised Suguru hadn’t fled when he had the chance. Assuming he would disappear at the first opportunity was selling him a bit short. Yeah, he left once before, but he was still Suguru.

Still, it made him pause seeing the familiar long black hair superimposed against the off-white of his walls. He couldn’t make out any real features from this distance, but he could tell he was still wearing that old leather jacket he wore since high school. The familiarity of it almost made him forget that this was the first time Suguru was actually in his house.

Suguru left just before he got the house… and just after he took in Megumi and Tsumiki.

Gojo shook his head and stopped gawking when he realized Suguru was staring at him. He rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Need any coffee or tea?”

“You do realize it’s almost midnight, right?” Suguru replied in what appeared to be genuine shock. 

“So?” Gojo shrugged.

Suguru sighed. “You’re a doctor. I shouldn’t have to tell you how bad for your health that is.” His voice was muffled due to the hand he was rubbing over his face.

“Hey, I’m not that kind of doctor,” Gojo shot back. “But fine. I realize those years abroad didn’t loosen you up any.”

Instead of making coffee or tea and fueling his caffeine addiction, he simply poured two glasses of water and made his way to the couch. Despite himself, he smiled.

One would assume since Gojo held a Ph.D. and Suguru didn’t pursue any education beyond high school, that Gojo would be the one keeping track of Suguru’s bad habits, but it was actually the opposite. All his life, Suguru had been a complete worrier for Gojo and kept him in check. ‘ No coffee beyond 5pm ’, ‘ don’t eat too many sweets ’, ‘ why did you think pulling an all-nighter was a good idea ’, and other various mother-like warnings had been the ambiance for his younger years. 

It was nice to know that at least that didn’t change.

Now that he was close to the coffee table, he could make out the white reflections of his papers, so he brushed them to the side before setting down the glasses. Gojo heavily collapsed onto the couch and sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Long day?” Suguru asked.

It was still crazy that his best friend was sitting beside him in his own home, but it was a more than a welcome shock to his system. He smiled and replied, “Yeah. Got a new transfer kid at the start of the semester and he’s a bit louder than my usual students.”

Suguru huffed a bit in mild surprise. “So you're still going with that high school teacher gig?”

“I’m going on four years now,” Gojo affirmed with a hard flint to his tone, slightly nervous as to how his best friend would react. For whatever reason, when he left his post as a researcher to become a teacher, this became a major chafing point in their relationship. Had Suguru stayed in Japan, he might’ve even gone back on his decision just to save their friendship.

But it never came to that because it never got the chance to. Before they really forgave each other, Suguru wordlessly booked a flight to Seoul and left without properly finishing the argument. It’s always been a rather bitter mark for Gojo, but he’s stayed firm to what he thought was right. Taking care of Tsumiki and Megumi while holding a more stable job was not one of his regrets. However, potentially losing Suguru because of it was a heavy cost and he still wasn’t sure if it was all worth it.

To his surprise, however, Suguru warmly responded, “That’s great! I’m glad it’s been working out.”

“Yeah, me too,” Gojo huffed on autopilot, too surprised to really respond. 

He gathered the courage to reopen his eyes and directly look at Suguru, who was just placing his glass back on the table. 

And there he was.

It was as simple and astonishing as that.

The breath froze in his lungs and the smile faded from his face, but not in a disappointed way. It faded in lieu of pure amazement. In theory, he knew that Suguru was here with him. He heard his voice, saw his silhouette, the fuzzy outline of his black hair, but even then, it was only a simple fact in his mind. The sky is blue, 1.618 is the golden ratio, and Suguru was in his house.

But seeing him up close in all the familiar clarity made it so much more real.

He was sitting not even a foot away from him, their shoulders nearly brushing. When Suguru breathed in, he could feel the slight shift in the couch or the way the fabric of his shirt just barely brushed against the leather of his jacket. Suguru’s inhales were a bit too shallow and his exhales a bit too shaky, but Gojo was almost distracted enough to let it escape his notice.

His hair had gotten longer. In his youth, Suguru always wore his hair in a topknot, but it was never super long. He always talked about growing it out and now here it was, reaching about midway his back with all the same thick and shiny volume it used to have— though he still has the topknot and his signature loose strand of bangs. It looked to be a bit frayed, but that could just be the humidity difference. His profile was the same sharp angles as before, his eyes just as dark as they’ve ever been (though he was just now noticing the darkness underneath them. He wanted to blame jetlag, but he knew that was probably just an excuse).

The familiarity and simultaneous distortion made his chest ache horrible and he wanted to hold Suguru like they used to when they were young. Make this invisible ache within him fade away. But, as though he could hear Gojo’s thoughts, he shifted slightly, leaning away from him.

The moment was over and the tension returned.

Gojo cleared his throat and noted, “You finally grew out your hair?”

“Yeah! I figured I might as well.” His voice was tense again, the same thin quality returning and making Gojo’s skin crawl.

He really wanted to demand what was wrong– place a hand on his shoulder and prevent him from leaving or deflecting the question. But up close, he could see the hard-pressed line of his lips, the exhaustion that seemed to pour out of him, contrasting with the electric tension he held himself with. He was being held together with nothing but static electricity and a too-firm grip.

Gojo wanted to help him and make it all better, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know if meddling would make this better or worse, so he aired on the side of caution.

“So!” he said a bit too loud, making them both jump. “You’ve been overseas, right? Tell me about it! What crazy hijinks did you get up to?”

Suguru’s responding laugh was a bit too empty to be genuine, but he took it. 

“Yeah, I’ve been all over. Started in South Korea, traveled around East Asia, then decided to see more,” he listed. “I went as far as Germany before deciding I should probably stop by Tokyo again.”

Gojo wanted to ask why he came back but feared it sounding like he didn't want Suguru around, so he bit his tongue. He really didn’t care what drove him back home, so long as he was here and present, but if the reason was causing him to act like this, then it quickly became his concern. But he shouldn’t push too soon.

Instead, he put on another energetic performance and scoffed, “Well, thanks for the itinerary, but what I really want to know is what you did! If I wanted to know where  I could just look at your receipts.”

The resulting conversation felt more like an interview than two close friends catching up after years of lost time. Gojo would ask a question, Suguru would give an objective and short answer, Gojo would pry, and Suguru would deflect. It went on in an endless loop where neither really took anything and Gojo was really wondering why his friend even bothered coming to his house. He was starting to get impatient.

All he really learned from Suguru’s adventures was that, for all his talk in their younger years, he just became any other tourist. He visited all the must-see landmarks, tried traditional cuisine in that region, and took too many pictures. 

Much like the thin way he spoke and the stutter in his gait, all of this was so unlike Suguru.

When they were kids, they often talked about traveling the world together. It was initially Suguru’s idea and he was always the one most excited about it, but he didn’t want to go just to see different parts of the world. He wanted to really experience them, live and breathe the way the residents do. He wanted to have his soul be combined with many different parts of the world and not be held down as merely a citizen of Japan. Suguru wanted to belong to the world, not to his country.

Gojo just wanted to go to be with him. There was no greater reason, so maybe that’s why it was easier for him to let go and choose to raise Tsumiki and Megumi instead. 

Suguru went without him, but he seemed to only go with half of himself. Instead of taking a part of the world with him, he seemed to leave bits and pieces of him everywhere, leaving this fragmented man who was splintered and uncharacteristically fragile. He didn’t do any of the things he said he wanted to and instead played the tourist archetype. He went, took up space, picked up a meaningless memento, and left while leaving a part of his soul behind.

After about an hour of a frankly exhausting conversation where neither of them got what they wanted, Suguru decided to turn the tables.

“So where’s those kids?” he asked casually, but with a tightness behind those words. “They still around?”

The question was innocent, but it felt barbed. Gojo’s heart squeezed again, but he ignored it in favor of draining the rest of his glass. He really wished it was coffee. 

“Of course, they’re still around,” he responded with a laugh. He chose to ignore the way Suguru’s eyes narrowed and blamed it on his eyes getting tired from the strain. “They’re both just out for the night. Hanging out with their friends.”

“Nice,” Suguru said in a clipped manner.

Unease began to fester within Gojo, making his skin crawl. The air between them froze once again and Suguru was tightening his fists. What was this about? Why was he acting so cold over something like this? It didn’t seem likely he came to Gojo’s house just to criticize his life choices, so this was likely a deflection. 

Still. He wasn’t going to let Suguru get away with it. If there was ever a time to confront him, it was now before this strange questioning about his wards continued.

“Look, I-” but at the same time, Suguru cut him off and said, “You know, I was always surprised that you took them in.”

Once again, it was an innocent enough statement but it came off as almost scathing. It was strange. He’s heard Suguru talk like this before (when a customer gets aggressive, when someone insults him or Gojo, or any other instance of needing to put someone in their place), but he’s never had this tone projected at him. It sent a chill down his spine.

But instead of making him nervous, it just annoyed Gojo and made him want to scream at this imposter to reveal the real Suguru.

“What do you mean?” he probed despite himself. At his heart, Gojo was a scientist and when there was some strange phenomenon, he wanted answers.

“Oh, you know, just…” Suguru trailed off, fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket and avoiding eye contact, “just the fact that you were no more than a kid yourself. That’s not easy to do.”

Gojo huffed and said, “Yeah, it wasn’t easy. But it’s what needed to be done.”

“I wonder about that.”

Then Suguru turned to look Gojo in the eyes for the first time he had been there– for the first time in four years. The low yellow light brought out a gleam in his dark eyes, making them look sharp despite the inherent fogginess of his vision. He looked tense and ready for a fight. He looked exactly the way he did before he left– all hard lines and sharp edges.

Gojo recoiled and defensively said, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know you, Satoru,” he asserted, Gojo wincing at how foreign his own name sounded. He had no idea where this aggression was coming from, but if he wanted a fight, Gojo would follow his lead. “I know the real reason you took in those kids.”

“Is that so?” Gojo narrowed his eyes in a dare. 

“Without a doubt.”

There was a beat between them where Suguru had to decide if he wanted to continue or if he wanted to laugh this off and say it was a joke. Gojo could go either way and he really didn’t want a fight, but he wanted the truth more than anything. If confrontation was the only way to get it, then so be it. But whatever Suguru said next could never be taken back.

His best friend took a breath and Gojo braced himself.

“You took those kids in because you got bored,” Suguru claimed, staring right into Gojo’s eyes. “You took them in because you thought it would be fun. I knew you were getting bored of being the ‘math prodigy’ and you wanted a new role. You wanted something else. Those kids were just a convenient excuse.”

Gojo scoffed, he was genuinely taken aback. Suguru said these things as though it was a practiced script like he had been rehearsing for years and finally got the courage to actually speak his mind. 

Regardless of his conviction, that statement simply wasn’t true.

“Suguru, I took them in because they needed me,” Gojo countered with a baffled laugh.

“You're  lying to yourself.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?!” Gojo snapped, throwing his arms out to the side. “Leave them to the mercy of the rest of my family? They wouldn’t have survived.”

“And you would know that how ?” Suguru spat, rising from his seat with almost a snarl on his face. 

Gojo knew he shouldn’t rise to the bait. He knew that on the rare occasion Suguru got upset, escalating would only make things worse, but this was personal. Unlike every other one of their squabbles, this actually hit Gojo in a place that mattered. No one questioned his life choices. This included his job and this especially included Tsumiki and Megumi.

As a young math prodigy, his family never gave him a say in what he wanted to do once his parents died. His whole life was laid out and Suguru knew how much he hated that, yet he was acting like a stranger, and that hurt more than anything.

Despite his better judgment, Gojo stood up as well, his teeth clenched tightly and grinding together.

“What do you mean, ‘how would I know that’?” he said lowly, almost snarling. “Did you forget Yuta? What they did to him? Oh, or what about me, huh? Well, good for you if you were able to just forget .”

“Don’t pretend like I wasn’t there for all of that too,” Suguru scoffed.

“Well, you’re certainly acting like it! I could’ve been fooled.”

“You and Yuta ended up fine!” 

“Yeah, no thanks to them !”

If it was tense between them before, the tension had now broken in the worst possible way. The dam had been broken and now they were both drowning. There was no resurfacing from this.

Their fight before Suguru’s departure had been rough, but this was worse. This one hurt because Gojo couldn’t even pinpoint exactly how it happened. There was no lead-in, no conscious movement towards this conclusion. It was sudden and rapid, but Gojo couldn’t imagine backing out now. His fists were clenched tightly and he was using his slight height advantage to tower over Suguru– of whom also refused to back down.

The man in question jabbed a finger towards Gojo’s face and declared, “They would’ve been fine! Those kids needed parents , not a nineteen-year-old kid who could barely take care of himself! Hell, do they even see you as a parental figure?”

“They don’t need to,” Gojo countered through gritted teeth. “They needed to be safe with the freedom to choose their own lives and that’s what I provided! I don’t need to be their dad, they already had one. They just needed someone and my ‘family’ would have killed them.”

“Are you sure that’s enough?”

Gojo couldn’t even respond to that. His words got caught in his throat and stuck together like glue.

Was Suguru even listening to him?

Apparently not because Suguru plowed on all the conviction of a man who had his life at stake. “Does Megumi still have nightmares? What about Tsumiki? Does she still think her mom is coming back? Do they come to you when upset? Trust you with their problems? Look to you for all the support and stability that you claim to provide?”

He continued on with the questions, not giving Gojo time to breathe. For each point made, he inched closer until they were mere inches apart. 

This was too close.

This was too much.

His hands were itching to knot in his hair, tug on the roots, but he felt frozen and his chest felt too tight. He tried to counter or even gasp for breath, but there was no space for him to do so. The instance he tried, his throat squeezed shut as though Suguru were choking him with his mere words.

Suguru was too loud and the light are too fucking bright and-

“Why the fuck do you care all of a sudden?!” Gojo shouted loud enough that his throat felt raw. 

Gojo rarely yelled. He hardly ever even raised his voice.

So when those words ripped out of his throat and left him raw and bloody, all the confrontational heat was swept out of the room, leaving it cold and quiet. Suguru stopped talking. Gojo couldn’t even focus enough to make out the expression on his face.

He just snarled and spat out, “You had all the time in the world to bring this up, so why now? What is wrong with you today?”

The amount of time it took Suguru to recover from him snapping brought a wave of guilty satisfaction. He hated they were fighting at all– especially since this was their first interaction for years- but Suguru started this. He walked into it willingly and he obviously wanted it. Gojo was just along for the ride.

But just as he was bracing for another hit, Suguru deflated.

Gojo took advantage of this stunned silence and said, “Is this just us now? Why do we only fight anymore?”

It was true and they both knew it. Both Suguru’s departure and return were wedged between seething arguments. While these spats didn’t erase almost two decades of friendship, they certainly did sting.

But for all that hurt, Gojo wished he hadn’t said anything because of the way Suguru reacted.

All of the tension drained from his shoulders and the sudden the wave visibly moved through his entire body as he swayed. For a terrifying second, Gojo thought he was going to fall, but then he collapsed heavily back onto the couch. His head was leaning against his hand as he rubbed his forehead, knotting the single strand of bangs he always left out. His dark hair was a mess and, for all his fight earlier, he now just looked defeated. All the exhaustion Gojo knew he was hiding was now showing in full.

He felt compelled to say or do something, so he bent down and reached out a hand, meaning to touch him on the shoulder as he said, “Suguru, I-”

But Suguru cut him off with a frustrated, “No. I shouldn’t have come in. I’m sorry.” Then in a quieter voice, he added, “I was being selfish.”

Gojo wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to hear that last part, but it bewildered him. He retracted his hand. For most of his life, he could always count on Suguru being the most stable one of them. Of course, he had off days, but this sort of hot and cold was very unlike him. There was something seriously wrong and it was showing before in the tense hold of his shoulders and the dark lines under his eyes, but now it was all laid bare.

He just looked tired .

And Gojo regretted every word he shouted at him. Suguru didn’t need someone to poke at his already frayed nerves, no, he needed a friend. He needed Satoru. Guilt sunk heavily into him and it felt bitter on his tongue. This is exactly what happened last time. Suguru lashed out due to some unknown cause and Gojo rose to the bait.

“No, it’s fine,” Gojo said heavily. “It’s not your fault. I was being a bit of a dick too.”

At this, Suguru let out a bitter laugh and lifted his head from his hand. His whole face screamed of someone who desperately needed a break, but not very far beneath the surface, it was pinched with guilt and self-loathing. Gojo could practically taste it in the air and it made him feel sick, as though the internal poison Suguru was feeding himself was somehow reaching him as well.

Suguru stood and muttered, “I-” before thinking better of it and saying, “I’m sorry. I’ll go now.”

He stood to leave, but Gojo was not about to let him leave again. Not like this. Not when he was dead on his feet and a half step from collapsing.

“I’m not going to let you leave,” Gojo warned as he stood in Suguru’s way. The man was very close to him, but he clearly didn’t have the energy to shove him away.

Up close and in this low light, he could make out a trace of very deep sadness through the exhaustion and guilt. It hung dark and heavy in his eyes, in the slight pinch of his brow, and the tight way he held his lips. He looked like he was ready to fall apart and it broke Gojo’s heart. Of course, he knew Suguru was at his wit's end from the moment he appeared at his doorstep, but actually seeing it was something else.

If Suguru tried to push him away, he wouldn’t let him. Though Suguru looked to be stronger of them, they were actually evenly matched when it came down to it. An unstoppable spear meets an immovable object.

But he didn’t try to move.

He just whispered, “Please let me go.”

Gojo’s heart broke all over again and he almost obliged, but instead, he held firm and replied, “Only if you promise to come back. And not four years from now either. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but just don’t be a stranger.”

Suguru huffed a small and timid laugh. He looked like he was going to say something, but then thought better of it and the words were stillborn. 

“Yeah, I’m not going anywhere any time soon,” he said, looking away and avoiding Gojo’s eyes.

Part of him wanted to reach out and make him look at him. Make him promise from the bottom of his heart because Gojo didn’t think he could survive the distance again. He let Suguru go before because he thought that’s what he wanted, but even then, he could always hear his voice in crowds and pick out his silhouette when he wasn’t actually there. Maybe it was selfish, but having him come back completely broke Gojo’s resolve, even if there was a different kind of distance between them and a strange tension.

So, being the asshole that he was, Gojo put a hand on his hip and smirked. “That didn’t sound like a promise.”

“Really?” Suguru deadpanned, daring a look back up at Gojo. He clearly wasn’t expecting Gojo’s cocky nonchalance, because he actually laughed. A real laugh. It was small and alive for just a flicker, but it was genuine and that alone made the whole night worth it. “Yeah, yeah, you clingy bastard. I promise.”

Not quite satisfied, but telling himself that this was enough for now, Gojo stepped away and let Suguru pass by. The man actually bowed his head a bit as he passed, earning an eye roll and a scoff from Gojo as his footfalls turned from a muffled rug to the tapping of wood.

Watching him slowly become blurrier as he walked away sent a sharp pain through Gojo and it nestled right alongside the panging worry that still drummed a steady beat in his chest. He took note of the differences and filed them away to reference another day.

He took a deep breath in.

Held it.

Then exhaled, making sure to leak some of the tension out of his shoulders.

Suguru Geto was back home and that’s all that really mattered. He had an inky black fog surrounding him and condensing into a rotting mass that he refused to call attention to, but he was breathing and alive and that was enough for now. Gojo couldn’t make everything better and he had to be okay with that for tonight.

Because tonight Suguru laughed– even if it was small. Yes, they fought and yes, it hurt to know Suguru was in pain, but at least he was back and he was safe. Whatever came next and whatever was causing this lingering tension, they would face together another time.

Things would be fine.

With that thought, Gojo started to make quick strides to open the door for Suguru, but before he even finished his first step, Suguru stopped. Gojo cautiously continued his approach.

It was like he suddenly remembered something.

The air in the room changed again, but this time, it wasn’t with a cold tension. Rather it felt almost sick and Gojo could feel it in his gut. But this wasn’t from self-loathing like earlier, no, this was deeper.

Suguru stood between the kitchen and living room, tensed with his fists clenched at his sides. His head was turned away from Gojo, fixedly staring at the kitchen sink, undoubtedly grinding his teeth based on the wire-straight tension of his jaw. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

Or no, that wasn’t right.

Gojo could hear his breaths, but they were shaky and hollow. Like he was fighting an internal battle– but that wasn’t quite right either.

This entire visit, Suguru’s been fighting something, but now, for some reason, he was losing. Or maybe he was letting himself lose.

The thin wire noosed around his consciousness was almost visible– glinting as a trick of the light as it pulled Suguru deeper inside of himself. The inner conflict was palpable and so sudden. Gojo was prepared to let this night go and just let things be, but with this sudden shift, it became clear that wasn’t happening.

The same question that’s been resonating in Gojo’s mind this entire visit came back with a protective fury– what is wrong with Geto Suguru?

Whatever it was, it had to be something severe and it couldn’t be ignored anymore.

Before he could test his theory, Suguru said something. Or rather, it sounded like he tried, but then aborted last minute, or he was unable to force the words past his tongue. Like they got embedded in his throat, bloody and infected, causing the rough half-syllable that erupted him his lips instead.

“Suguru, what’s-” Gojo began, urgent concern churning in his stomach, making him feel sick. But he was cut off by his friend’s second, timid attempt at speaking. 

“I need to tell you…” Suguru trailed off, his words were fragile and quiet. If Gojo hadn’t been carefully listening, he would have missed them entirely.

But Suguru seemed to be struggling. He was evidently trying to force out the next part of the sentence, but he just couldn’t. Gojo furrowed his brow and his entire face twisted in deep concern. He decided to try to help and quietly prompted, “Tell me what?”

“The-” he began, before chocking on the words. His shoulders were shaking. “The whole reason I came back…”

Gojo reached out to touch his shoulder, but his hand got lost on the way. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to say anything. That it could all wait. That it was okay and they could just leave it be because this rotting poison he was trying to spit out was clearly hurting him and-

“The funeral’s next Saturday.”

It all came out in a rushed breath, so quickly and so broken that Gojo did a double-take and almost asked him to repeat it without thinking. “ Funeral? ” Gojo parroted, a sickly feeling of dread mixing with dense worry in his gut.

He had to have heard that wrong, but he also knew with the full force of his being that he did not. There was a funeral. Someone had died that was close enough to Suguru to cause a complete shift in his personality. There weren’t many people that Gojo knew who could warrant such a reaction from his best friend. 

All the people he could think of were at least equally close to him. Their lives had been entwined for so long that they were practically the same person– these past four years be damned. 

In the split-second interval between Suguru speaking and his response, his mind had already flashed through each nauseating possibility. The worst of which was Mimiko or Nanako, whom were the mischievous younger twin sisters of Suguru. Gojo had fallen out of contact with Suguru’s family by chance shortly after he got his Ph.D., but if one of them died… he would have at least gotten a call.

Sometime between this rapid-fire thinking, Gojo had managed to move around to look Suguru head-on. His back was no longer facing him and he was searching the man’s face for any clues. But all he saw was a dark and deep sadness, which was thinly veiled before, puppeteering the strings behind their every interaction this night.

“Whose?” Gojo demanded, wanting to grab Suguru’s shoulders but afraid the man would crumble to pieces if he did.

He didn’t mean for his tone to be so forceful, but he couldn’t help himself. Suguru squeezed his eyes shut and ground his jaw even tighter. If he was tense before, it now looked like he was a superdense piece of molten mass, caught between exploding in a catastrophic outpour or imploding into the infinite void of a black hole. 

Gojo was about to repeat himself before the tension loosened almost imperceptibly as Suguru whispered in a rough and foreign voice, “My parents… They-”

He didn’t give his friend time to finish that horrible sentence as he finally closed the distance between them and wrapped Suguru in a tight embrace, his head bowed in grief as he tried to wrap his mind around what horrible truth was just spoken. The whole weight of his reality was crashing down on him, but he held himself together as Suguru fell apart.

The man didn’t waste time as he collapsed against Gojo, breaking apart as he feared he would as his fists knotted in the fabric of Gojo’s shirt. His head was pressed into Gojo’s shoulder. He was shaking. Despite everything, he was trying not to cry and Gojo responded by just holding him tighter.

They didn’t say anything. Gojo couldn’t speak even if he had something to say.

As someone who was all too familiar with this particular grief, he knew that all words would sound petty and hollow compared to the weight of the catastrophe. No metaphor could begin to compare and no thoughts were adequate. 

There was just one simple and cruel phrase that could even begin to capture it.

Suguru’s parents were dead.

He knew from experience that this one sentence punctuated every one of Suguru’s actions tonight. Booking the flight back to Japan– my parents are dead -, ending up on Gojo’s doorstep at an odd hour of the night– my parents are dead -, laughing like old friends– my parents are dead -, arguing over something petty– my parents are dead -, saying something he regretted– my parents are dead . 

So this was that rotting mass he had been lugging around all this time. Decaying at the core of his being and polluting the air around him, causing stress fractures that were finally starting to break. 

Gojo knew that he would feel the devastation once the shock wore off. It would steal the breath from his lungs and tear him apart from the inside out, causing the same necrotic damage Suguru was facing.

He wanted to think about all the kindness Suguru’s parents gave to the world, how gentle they were, how good , and how the black hole of their absence would wreak havoc on their world. He wanted to agonize about not visiting them for years, for not fully letting them into his life, for-

But not tonight.

Gojo held Suguru tighter.

For now, he was too preoccupied to care about himself. Suguru needed the air in his lungs, the beat in his heart, and the relative calm of his waters. So he would give those things for as long as he could until the wave of grief crashed over him and dragged him under. He knew how grief stole one’s memory, soul, and mind. Everything becomes a gray and blurry haze. When the bereaved wasn’t aesthetically numbed, a white-hot and indescribable pain took its place.

But that was fine for now.

The funeral, the implications, and even reality itself could wait. 

Right now, just having Suguru back in his life was enough, no matter the cost.

The rest they would handle together as a team– as it always should’ve been.