Work Text:
“Megumi?”
Fushiguro finds that odd. You never call him by his first name. “Huh?” He turns to look back at you.
“Would you mind giving Ijichi a call?” He hears you huff a laugh. “Not sure if I can make it back on my own.”
And then you’re falling.
“I don’t think that’s what happened,” You say, turning your nose up haughtily. You’re letting your pride get the better of you and you know it. But you’re embarrassed , and you’re embarrassed that you’re so embarrassed.
It shouldn’t be such a big deal to you. Even the best Jujutsu Sorcerers get injured during battle. Even if you had died, you don’t think anyone would have faulted you for it. These things happen.
But there’s a voice in the back of your head that you haven’t heard in years, one that resurfaced the second you decided to be a Sorcerer again. It tells you that you’re not like the people you surround yourself with, that you’re not worthy of the First Grade classification that you earned.
Logic would tell you it’s wrong, but sometimes even that fails you.
The curse had been particularly nasty, too. You’d been assigned to take on the semi-Grade One and bring Fushiguro and Itadori along with you. A teachable moment where they could see your techniques in action.
It’d been a while since you’d gone on a mission, but in the years you’d been absent from the field, you tried to keep yourself sharp. Took out Grade Fours and Threes when you stumbled across them, as well as the occasional Two. Some techniques, however, aren’t worth using on those types, and so they fell into the background.
The two first years came with you, but you ordered them to stay out of it. For them to truly see this technique, they couldn’t be fighting alongside you. They had to watch closely.
It’s called the Pause Technique. It causes a reaction delay. Once in use, any hit your opponent lands on you won’t take effect until after you’ve released the technique. An adrenaline rush on steroids, of sorts. It’s useful in close-combat and for ending fights quickly, which is the best method for exorcising Grade Ones.
As soon as the technique is released, however, the pain you’d avoided for the duration of your fight comes back, all at once. It’s high risk, high reward, but as long as you’re precise, it’s worth it in your eyes. Unfortunately, there can be a few miscalculations, especially if you haven’t utilized it in a while.
During a fight, if you aren’t feeling pain, it can be hard to catalog just how much you’ve endured. After defeating the Grade One, you released your technique, not realizing the extent of your injuries. It was a mistake on your part, a result of having been out of practice. You don’t like making mistakes.
“So you’re calling me a liar?” Despite the accusatory words, Fushiguro just sounds exhausted. You wonder if he slept at all. You’ve known him since he was a kid, and you feel guilty for worrying him.
“You should’ve let us help you,” Itadori says. You vaguely remember him sitting at your bedside through the night, but you aren’t sure. “We could have taken care of it together.”
You feel horrible for placing the responsibility of your care on two children. You were unconscious, but you assume that one of them had to carry your limp body back to the car, unsure if you were going to make it through the night. You can only imagine how scared they must have been.
If you’d been in your right mind, you would have let them help. You’ve always thought that one learns more by doing than watching, after all. But that part of you that’s so desperate to prove yourself, that still strives for perfection, stood in your way. And look where it’s gotten you: bedridden for the time being while they look at you with a mix of anger and concern.
You sigh, leaning back into the pillows. Itadori had brought you extra to prop yourself up. “I let my pride get in the way. I was supposed to be teaching the two of you and instead…” You don’t like the way your throat is starting to constrict, so you clear it. “I won’t let it happen again. I’m sorry.”
“It was a good lesson on what not to do,” Fushiguro says, but when you look up at him, there’s a slight smile on his face. You return the gesture.
“And before you passed out, it was pretty epic,” Itadori tells you. “I’ve never seen someone take out a Grade One so fast!”
“Thanks, Itadori. Once I’m better, I can show you how to do the Power Bomb technique.”
“ You can do a Power Bomb? ”
The door to the dorm slides open as Itadori bombards you with questions. You feel the person’s energy before you see them, and it isn’t difficult for you to tell that it’s Gojo. Nor is it difficult for you to tell that he’s upset with you.
He carries himself casually, a relaxed smile on his face. His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses today. Itadori and Fushiguro seem unaware of the man’s disposition, but you know from the way the tendon in his neck flexes. A minuscule detail, but one you’ve known for years.
“Heard you had quite the mission,” Gojo says, white teeth gleaming. He’s good at hiding his true emotions. “Congrats on taking out the Grade One! Real impressive stuff you did out there.” Impressive, he says. Reckless , he means.
“Thank you,” You say calmly, turning your attention back toward the boys, and out of the corner of your eye you see Gojo stiffen at your rebuff, but you’d rather not start anything with students around. “Could you guys give us a moment? I’d like to give Gojo a report on what happened.”
“Don’t bite each other’s heads off,” Fushiguro says as he drags Itadori out by his collar. It surprises you. Perhaps he knows the two of you better than you thought.
“I’ll bring pizza later!” Itadori calls out to you, just as the door shuts.
You adjust yourself in the bed. You wish you were at home. Perhaps the reason you splurge so much on bedsheets is because the ones at Jujutsu High are ass . You miss your down comforter and cooling memory foam mattress.
The two of you are silent as Gojo takes a seat. You can feel his eyes on you, searching for your injuries. You’d had some massive bruising and internal bleeding, but Shoko had taken care of it. The only bandage you have is on your forehead from a small cut when you collapsed. For the most part, you’re just sore.
“Nanamin told me you used Pause Technique.”
Snitch! You were going to throttle him with that stupid tie of his.
“I’m fine ,” You remind him. “I took care of the Grade One. Shoko healed me. It’s fine.” He’s dramatic all the time, but especially when it comes to you.
Gojo’s silent. He tilts his head toward the ceiling, white hair falling out of his face. “Do you remember the last time you used it?”
A few months after your graduation, the two of you had been assigned to take out a Special Grade. Gojo’d been busy across town so you left before him, having every intention of simply scoping out the curse before he arrived. Those plans changed rather quickly.
A family had been camping in the woods the curse called home. You’d been told that everyone in the area had been evacuated, but they must not have gotten the alert. If you waited for Gojo to come, the curse might have killed them.
You don’t regret making the choice to fight. You’d used your technique to the fullest extent of its power. You weakened the curse significantly by the time Gojo showed up, but once the fighting was done and you released your technique, there was nothing but pain. The blinding sort that halts all thought and movement until all you know is hurt .
To you, it’s a cost worth paying.
“I thought you were dying.” Your eyes widen. He’s never told you that before. “I thought I was watching you die and I couldn’t do anything.”
Gojo exhales, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “When Nanamin called and told me that you’d used it again, I expected him to tell me that it’d killed you.”
Your lips press into a thin line. It can kill you, if you sustain a grievous wound. It stops the pain but it doesn’t stop how it affects the body. A sword could go through you and you wouldn’t feel it, but you’d still be bleeding out. If you took a hit like that and didn’t realize, you’d drop dead before the fight was over.
“Promise me you won’t use it again. It’s too much of a risk.”
“You take risks all the time,” You protest. How is it fair if he can be reckless, but you can’t?
“I don’t care about my life, but I care about yours.”
You stare at him. You can see the faint outline of his eyes through his sunglasses, boring into yours. You shift to sit directly in front of him, wincing as your sore body moves. His large hands are on you in an instant, just desperate to touch you. “I don’t like scaring you. I should’ve been more mindful tonight. I got into my head about being a First Grade Sorcerer and went too far. I’m sorry.”
Gojo sighs, closing his eyes. “But,” You continue, and they pop back open. “I won’t promise not to use it again.”
“(Y/N)—”
“I don’t care about my life,” You repeat. “But I care about yours.” His fingertips dig into the skin of your thighs. He wants you to take it back, but you won’t. “I can’t say that I won’t use everything in my power to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection,” He insists, and you smile softly at him.
“I know, but you have it.” He’s your strength and your weakness, all rolled into one human being. You are pragmatic, and cunning, and thoughtful, but when it comes to Gojo Satoru, you would throw your life away in an instant if it meant saving his.
Gojo rests his forehead against yours. Your noses brush against each other. “I’d tear the universe in two for you,” He says, and your heart stutters. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he continues, “I suppose we’ll just have to make sure the other doesn’t do anything too stupid.”
You hum, playing with the ends of his hair. “I’d say I got the short end of that stick.”